


when every no turns into maybe

by cosmicwoosan



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Cynicism, Denial of Feelings, Dissociation, Emotional Constipation, Falling In Love, Family Issues, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining while fucking, Promiscuity, Recreational Drug Use, References to Depression, Riding, Rimming, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 112,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23319160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicwoosan/pseuds/cosmicwoosan
Summary: After a seemingly harmless one-night stand, a very unprepared Wooyoung finds himself looking at the world through a lens of inconvenient fireworks, rewritten rulebooks, and sudden bursts of sunlight, as a man with a treasure map neck and shimmering midnight hair prompts him to think about everything that he is, was, and wants to be.And maybe, just maybe, he learns a thing or two about love.-in which Wooyoung is cynical and doesn't believe in love, San takes care of kittens and humans better than himself, Yunho is an overly generous dance teacher, Hongjoong is a nocturnal musician, Seonghwa waters plants for a living, Jongho is a THC gummy bear-dealing arm wrestler, Yeosang is the proud owner of the world’s gayest fish tank, and Mingi is… well, Mingi.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 194
Kudos: 741





	1. not now

**Author's Note:**

> i've been wanting to do a slow burn emotional constipation fic for a while now and well, this is it.
> 
> this fic is brought to you by 'stray italian greyhound' by vienna teng
> 
> there are some trigger warnings further on but I made sure to include warnings in the beginning notes for each chapter :) hope you enjoy!
> 
> edit: there is now a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0KKsOpveRhl2A9Fa6w5AxN?si=IFVmGNi-TDGFqQQec0UDCw) for this fic! feel free to have a listen :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s still giggling by the time he gets home, where Yunho is studying in the living room. “What’s so funny?” his roommate asks.
> 
> “Do you think I need therapy?” Wooyoung asks, his giggling coming to an ominous halt.
> 
> “Yes,” Yunho answers with no hesitation.
> 
> Wooyoung nods. “Fair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just so everyone knows, wooyoung has a really weird imagination and makes a lot of passively suicidal jokes and comments, and sometimes his friends make them too. each chapter will probably have that one way or another. guess i'm really projecting my humor into this fic huh.
> 
> but n e ways, hope you enjoy :)

Wooyoung often finds himself staring up at his ceiling and trying to pick out patterns. Sometimes, he draws little imaginary doodles in the crevices of his textured ceiling, one that’s quite old-fashioned if he does say so himself, unlike the house he grew up in. So is the life of a college student who’s running off of a just-above-minimum-wage job, thus, Wooyoung can’t really complain. He brought himself into this after all, wanting to chase his dream, whatever that may be, since he still hasn’t decided a major. It’s only his second year, though. Things could change. That’s what Wooyoung is betting on.

He’s betting on the universe to punch him in the face with a change, one that will hopefully kick his ass in gear, but until then, he’s letting it run its course and tries very little to actually get in its way because he really can’t be bothered. Until then, he’s perfectly content in this little bubble of his.

After all, the universe hasn’t exactly been kind to him despite his attempts at living in the past. He figures that maybe, after so long of being fucked over by the universe whilst actually trying, he should _stop_ trying, and _then_ maybe something good will come to him.

When he really thinks about it, maybe he isn’t betting on anything. The universe can suck his dick for all he cares.

His second-year roommate goes by Yunho, a tall, well put-together man who for some reason puts up with Wooyoung’s cynicism despite being one of the brightest rays of sunshine Wooyoung has ever met. He always tries to cheer Wooyoung up, whether it be by taking him places or offering to treat him to dinner or teaching him a new dance move here and there. Or, in the more extreme cases, he’s there to hold back Wooyoung’s hair after a blissful night of partying and fucking up (Wooyoung doesn’t even need to have his hair held back, but Yunho does it anyway).

Wooyoung is glad Yunho accepted his roommate request. He’d been afraid he’d get stuck with another shitty roommate like the one he had his first year, at a different university. Every time Wooyoung returned to the room, his roommate would somehow leave a mess of dirty laundry on _his_ side of the room, and from that, Wooyoung decided he would never dorm again, even opting for transferring to another university (not _just_ because of the roommate situation; his experience there just kinda sucked in general). Instead, he sought out a roommate to share an apartment with him on a relatively shady website, but it brought him Yunho, so maybe it’s not so shady after all (thank you, universe!). So perhaps the universe isn’t _that_ cruel, but it’s still pretty negligent of the things he actually needs in life, mainly genuine happiness and human connection, but as previously stated, Wooyoung can’t really be bothered.

He'll let the waves run their course, rock his boat in every wayward direction until he’s seasick, and even then, he’ll still just let it all happen because that’s what the universe wants.

He _can’t be bothered_.

Still, he’s well aware that if he lets the universe usurp every ounce of control in his life, he might as well be dead on the floor, so he does try in some aspects. He studies enough to get good grades, exercises _sometimes_ , partakes in the occasional recreational drug use, a lot of things everyday college students do. He’ll go to parties, nightclubs, anywhere that has alcohol and people because those are two things that offer him some not-so-wholesome fun that he usually thoroughly enjoys, apart from sad, sad dick appointments and horrid hangovers. But other than that, he’s doing great!

He figures it could be worse. He likes his job for the most part, as it’s pretty easy and he doesn’t have to deal with stupid people _that_ much (bless being a cashier at a sex shop! It really suits him), and if he does, it’s usually harmless, sometimes awkward interactions with people who have no idea how butt stuff works, who don’t know how to tie simple bondage knots, what type of lube to use, things like that. Wooyoung has all the answers, being the most shameless, ragingly promiscuous bisexual on campus (maybe not the _most_ , but he feels pretty fucking far up there), and the job always leaves him with interesting stories at the end of the day that he shares with Yunho over a couple snacks and a glass or two of wine.

Life is okay, for the most part. Wooyoung always tells himself it could be worse, and really, it could.

He does, however, hate exams to the point where he feels like it really couldn’t be worse, even if they are just midterms. Cramming knowledge into his brain that he probably won’t even need to use further down the road at ungodly hours of the night makes him want to rip his entire scalp off and feed it to the sharks in the Pacific Ocean, and that’s exactly what he’s doing because if he doesn’t study, he’ll probably be kicked out of university, in which case he will actually throw _himself_ into the Pacific Ocean and feed _himself_ to the sharks. What a way to die!

(Wooyoung also likes to exaggerate things a lot. It’s another thing Yunho puts up with, God bless that man.)

If he fails his midterms, he probably _won’t_ get kicked out of university on the spot, but he’ll still heavily consider throwing himself into the Pacific Ocean. He isn’t _bad_ at school, like, he’s passing all of his classes with decent grades and an above average GPA, but at the expense of his mental health, social life, and overall sanity.

It’s why Wooyoung likes to have fun when he can. Go out to clubs and bars, maybe even accompany Yunho to a party on or off campus. It’s his way of relieving stress, and while there are probably other better, healthier ways to relieve stress, it’s what he has, and sometimes he gets an orgasm or two out of it, so he’d say it outweighs the possible trouble he’d get into if the cops were to ever bust any of the parties he goes to. Sort of. It’s not like he’s the one responsible for the parties, so _technically_ , he wouldn’t be the one getting busted; at least, he’s pretty sure of that.

Somehow, he ends up with his head flat in the middle of his textbook, a splitting headache ripping through the front of his skull as his laptop glares at him, too fucking bright, and he screams. Just screams.

Yunho appears in his doorway, bemused but not entirely surprised. “Everything okay in there?” he asks, knocking on the doorframe which only exacerbates Wooyoung’s migraine.

“I wanna fucking die,” Wooyoung groans, muffled by the pages of his textbook.

“That’s not news,” Yunho says snidely, slipping into Wooyoung’s room and standing next to his very stressed roommate. He puts his giant fucking hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder, rubbing it carefully. “What’s wrong this time, Wooyoungie?”

“Take a fucking guess,” Wooyoung grumbles, and screams again.

Yunho sighs. “Wooyoung, if we get the cops called on us, you’re paying for whatever fine we may end up with.”

“The cops can eat my fat ass.” Wooyoung shrugs Yunho’s hand off his shoulder and stands up, rubbing his face in an attempt to expel the exhaustion. Sadly, it doesn’t work.

“I’m surprised we haven’t gotten the cops called on us yet,” Yunho says, his hand already wrapped around Wooyoung’s wrist, knowing exactly where this is going to go. “With how much shit we’ve pulled and how loud we are sometimes.”

“And the parties.”

“And the parties.” Yunho snickers, his mind evidently traveling back to the numerous parties they’ve attended. As previously mentioned, Wooyoung is surprised none of them were busted, or if they were, it was after he left.

A lot of the time, Wooyoung goes to these parties, drinks a bit (or a lot), finds someone to hook up with, and leaves. Of course, it depends; if the music isn’t shitty and the people don’t make him want to gouge his eyes out and rip every single strand of hair from his head, he’ll stick around longer even after the hookup takes place. If he sees his ex-flings at school, he looks the other way, as do they. Wooyoung likes it that way. He’s already got enough on his plate; a one-night stand being hung up on him is the last thing he needs.

“One of these days, we’re going to get the cops called on us,” Yunho says, and Wooyoung can’t tell how serious he’s being.

Oh well. If they do get the cops called on them one day, at least the universe will finally seal his fate (depending on the severity of whatever infraction warrants the cops being called).

“Are you really, truly worried about that?” Wooyoung asks with a smirk and a glint of mischief in his eyes. He steps forward, his toes pressing against Yunho’s. Looking up at his roommate, he narrows his eyes, his smirk only continuing to grow.

“Of course not, Jung Wooyoung.” Yunho’s reply is low, laced with an equal amount of diabolicality. “We’re partners in crime, after all.”

And that’s what Wooyoung likes about Yunho.

Yunho, who’s too tall for his own goddamn good. Yunho, who is both optimistic and pessimistic at the same time. Yunho, who gives it to him good when he needs it. His roommate, his one friend here at this godforsaken university, and his number one fuck buddy. The one person Wooyoung will fuck more than once.

What else can he say? Dude’s got a big dick.

The two live by themselves in their two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment. It’s suitable, cute, maybe mildly haunted but that’s pretty cool in Wooyoung’s opinion. He wonders if the ghost lurking in his bedroom has seen them fuck. Probably. He wonders what the spirit thinks about handjobs, blowjobs, and anal sex.

Yunho is one of those guys who doesn’t like to use labels, which is completely fine with Wooyoung, but get him anywhere except their apartment and he acts like the most no-homo-bro straight guy Wooyoung has ever met. He doesn’t _think_ Yunho is closeted, or at least, people don’t know about his sexuality, and even then, he doesn’t use labels. People should respect that.

However, when Yunho has his dick buried in Wooyoung’s ass, it’s hard to call him heterosexual because that’s definitely not a label Wooyoung would use to describe him.

So this is what Wooyoung’s life consists of. University, takeout food, Yunho, parties, and decent grades. Hookups, orgasms, alcohol, marijuana, and the daunting feeling looming over his head that his life isn’t really going anywhere but he can’t be bothered to do much about it because the universe is shitty and he’s sick of trying.

Really, it could be worse.

✲

Wooyoung meets Kang Yeosang on a fateful Sunday, the day before the week of the dreaded midterms. Yunho teaches dance to people ranging from beginner to ‘expert,’ because as good of a dancer as Yunho is, his dance skills are still a work in progress. Everything about college students is a work in progress, Wooyoung thinks, because college students who have their shit together completely are in no way actually human. Of course, he doesn’t mean to downplay Yunho’s dance skills. The dude knows how to move (in more ways than one).

Out of all the choreographers at the studio, however, Yunho is probably the most simultaneously easygoing _and_ skilled one, so plenty of people seek his classes that specialize in mostly hip hop and contemporary, but because he himself is a college student who doesn’t have his shit together, his classes only take place twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday. He gets paid _and_ credit towards his major, so in comparison to Wooyoung, he’s sort of living the dream.

Yunho has a few ‘special fans,’ as he’s said in the past, none of which Wooyoung has actually met. He hears a lot about a Song Mingi, someone Yunho describes as “quirky, shy, and definitely someone you’d corrupt if I wasn’t in the picture.” However, when Wooyoung walks into the studio one Sunday while Yunho is rehearsing, there’s another human body huddled in the corner on his phone, frowning at whatever is on his screen.

His footsteps echo throughout the spacious mirror-filled room as he quite literally waltzes in. Yunho smirks at him in the mirror as his roommate twirls around not-so-graciously in a poor attempt at the three-step dance. “Sadly, I don’t teach waltz, but I’ll master it just so I can teach you how to do it properly.”

“You’re such a considerate person!” Wooyoung cackles as he continues his blunderous waltz right into Yunho’s skyscraper-like body.

“Who the hell’s that, Yunho-yah?” comes a deep voice from the corner.

Wooyoung slings both of his arms around Yunho’s shoulders like a sloth because he honestly might as well be one. Maybe he could be reborn as one; that’d be pretty cool.

“Ah, this is my roommate, Jung Wooyoung.”

“Oh, the promiscuous one?”

Wooyoung immediately drops his arms, mouth falling open in betrayal as he turns towards his roommate. “How dare you call me promiscuous!”

The man in the corner shrugs, setting his phone down and standing. He’s lanky, probably around Wooyoung’s height, but Jesus, he’s gorgeous. Wooyoung knows a gorgeous man when he sees one, and whoever this deep-voiced, birthmarked-eye stranger is, would definitely go on Wooyoung’s hit list. “You look the part, if I’m being honest,” he comments, eyeing Wooyoung up and down.

“And pray tell, stranger, what exactly does ‘promiscuous’ look like to you?”

“Like you.” The stranger approaches the two, and he’s got about a centimeter or two on Wooyoung, straight eyebrows and a jaw that could kill. He stands with his arms crossed and one hip cocked out.

“Lucky for you, I take pride in my hoe side, thank you,” Wooyoung says with a frisky pout.

“Oh, by all means. Just know that I can tell when guys look at me like they want to eat me, and I mean, _eat me_ , and trust me, you’re not getting any.”

Well, shit.

“It’s nothing against you, really,” the stranger continues. “You’re an attractive man, but I’d rather fuck someone a little more… picky.”

“Picky?”

“Someone with standards.”

“What are you talking about? I _do_ have standards!”

The stranger lets out a deep chuckle. He has cute teeth, Wooyoung notices. “Tell that to the dozens of people you’ve fucked, darling. Do you even remember their names?”

There’s Yunho, Wooyoung thinks. He can definitely remember his roommate. Other than that, he blanks completely, leaving an unanswered question and a very smug-looking stranger. “I rest my case, but like I said, by all means. I get it, we’re all here for a good time, not a long time. The name is Kang Yeosang. Please, do wear it out.”

Yeosang, the man with model-like features and a catlike attitude, holds his hand out for Wooyoung to shake, and he gladly does so. The two smirk at each other, mischief beneath their brown eyes, while Yunho stands between them posing as an unnecessary mediator of sorts. When the two finally drop their hands, Yunho says, “So, uh, dinner?”

Another thing about Yunho is that he’s pretty fucking well off compared to Wooyoung. His family lives affluently yet humbly, and Yunho is a generous guy. He doesn’t hesitate to splurge on his friends; in fact, he barely buys anything for _himself_ , and Wooyoung had to remind the guy to pick up some extra pairs of underwear just so he didn’t have to keep reusing the same three pairs. Wooyoung wishes he could repay Yunho somehow, to which Yunho always says, “It’s okay, you’re basically pimping yourself out to me, so it all works out.”

Wooyoung supposes that’s fair. They both get orgasms out of it, so it’s a win-win.

Yunho takes his newly acquainted friends to some boujie restaurant twenty minutes from campus in his stupid expensive BMW something something something, letters and numbers that just further prove the fact that yes, Yunho is dumb rich. Wooyoung feels so _dirty_ whenever he goes anywhere with Yunho, sliding into the leather interior while wearing his five-year-old pair of jeans he got at the mall and Converse that are so tattered they’re basically falling apart. Well, besides his car, Yunho looks like an average college student who dresses modestly and like, well, a college student. Who also drives a shiny black BMW. Okay, universe.

Yunho sometimes offers to let Wooyoung drive, and Wooyoung always declines and tells him, “I’d rather have you _not_ hire a hitman to kill me if I get so much as a scratch on this thing.” Guess Yunho must not care _that_ much for his luxury vehicle that probably costs more than Wooyoung’s entire life savings.

Wooyoung and Yeosang bond over a full-course meal with steak that’s so tender it melts in their mouths, a side of sweet and spicy chicken for Yeosang because according to the pseudo model it’s something he can’t live without, and three beers. They talk about the do’s and don’t’s of hoeing around, something that Wooyoung is very well-versed in and something that Yeosang _wants_ to be well-versed in for some reason. Wooyoung tells him he could have anybody he wants with how attractive he is, to which Yeosang says, “Greatly appreciated, but I’m still not gonna fuck you.” Lovely.

So Wooyoung tells him that the best way to go about it is to just not _care._ To throw all of his worries and what if’s in a garbage bag, toss it into an incinerator, and let that shit burn because one can’t be a hoe and _care._ He does, however, tell Yeosang to be careful because if he catches something, chances are his hoe phase will end much more quickly than intended.

“The worst thing to catch is not an STD,” Wooyoung says, “but feelings.”

“Ah, yes. Feelings, the one true destroyer of one’s hoe phase.”

“It is, truly. As soon as feelings are caught, the hoe phase is over. Done. Dead. Drowning in the Pacific Ocean and never resurfacing. Don’t catch feelings.”

“Noted.”

Wooyoung recites what he would consider his autobiography of hoeing around and what he’s learned from it. He might be a hoe, but he’s a smart one. He knows not to care, and he knows not to catch feelings. Two of the most important rules.

“Wrap it before you tap it,” Wooyoung tells Yeosang. “Bring lube wherever you go. And sometimes, you have to be a bit of an asshole, but still be respectful.”

“Contradictory, but continue.”

“Just don’t, like, physically hurt anybody. Respect consent, and if someone tells you to stop, then stop. When I say that you have to be an asshole sometimes, I mean, sometimes you just have to be straightforward with what you want, which some people see as being kind of asshole-ish, but confidence goes a long way.”

“There’s a fine line between confidence and cockiness, and sometimes, Wooyoungie here doesn’t know that line exists,” Yunho snorts, his cheeks stuffed with chicken.

“And that’s where the very first rule I stated comes in,” Wooyoung says, stabbing a piece of Yunho’s chicken and shoveling it into his mouth, ignoring his roommate’s incredulous stare. “To not _care._ ”

Once the rules come full circle, Yeosang nods, quickly flagging down a waitress and asking for a pen and a napkin. On that napkin, Wooyoung watches Yeosang scribble down the rules.

_Rules of Being a Hoe: A Guide by Man Whore Jung Wooyoung_

  1. _Don’t care (a.k.a. be a dickhead)_
  2. _Feelings are worse than HIV_
  3. _Still remember to bring condoms and lube, though_
  4. _CONSENT!!!_
  5. _Be an asshole (like rule number 1 but worded differently)_
  6. _Learn where the line between confidence and cockiness is so Wooyoung can learn it for himself and write a better guide_



Yeosang caps the pen shut, sliding the napkin guide over to Wooyoung for approval. “Sound about right?” he asks with a confident, or cocky, smirk.

Wooyoung reaches over, grabs the pen, uncaps it, and adds a seventh rule.

  1. _Have fun!!! :)_



“That’s good,” he says, smiling just like the drawing at the end of the seventh rule and sliding the napkin back to Yeosang.

“Glad to know you admit to your faults,” Yeosang says, folding the napkin neatly and shoving it into his pocket.

“They’re not faults. They’re just facts.”

“I retract my statement.”

Wooyoung chuckles, winking Yeosang’s way, but not in the flirtatious sense. It’s as if Yesoang has caught onto it too, this invisible connection the two have. Yunho turns his head between them, probably feeling like he should say something, but there’s nothing _to_ be said, Wooyoung thinks.

If Kang Yeosang isn’t going to be Wooyoung’s next fling, he certainly is going to be his next best friend.

✲

After Wooyoung’s first midterm, he travels to the university’s finest café and orders himself a coffee with three creams and three sugars, because that’s the only way to make coffee and any other way is blasphemy. It’s _just_ the perfect amount of both ingredients, in Wooyoung’s not-so-humble opinion, and he’s not just saying that because he started drinking coffee in middle school just to keep up with the hassle of living and may or may not be addicted to that _one_ way of having coffee. It’s the perfect color and perfect sweetness, definitely not because his taste buds have grown so accustomed to having three creams and three sugars that having his coffee any other way might actually send him into cardiac arrest.

God bless Jeong Yunho for putting up with his unnecessary and sometimes mildly concerning exaggerations.

He still has another midterm to get through, one that he’s pretty confident (not cocky) about, so he’s not _that_ stressed.

And above all, Yunho texts him about a party being held on Friday night at one of the biggest off-campus houses that probably belongs to one of Yunho’s rich friends, or maybe a friend of a friend of one of Yunho’s rich friends. Wooyoung doesn’t know; Yunho has more connections than Wooyoung has ex-flings, and that’s a _lot._

Plus, because the house is off-campus, it means that the university itself can’t bust them… right? The cops still could, technically, but with a house that big, Wooyoung isn’t worried about himself getting in trouble. He’d just be another innocent partygoer, he’s legal to drink, and he doesn’t cause any trouble. The ones who get in trouble would be those going around shooting off illegal fireworks, stripping naked and running around the neighborhood with ‘cum dumpster’ painted onto their abdomen, or doing keg stands in the middle of the street. And yes, Wooyoung has witnessed all of those things at past parties.

He’s noisy, but only in one place.

As he sips his three creams, three sugars coffee, Wooyoung studies for his next midterm and wonders who will be his next fling, if they’ll catch feelings or not, and he chuckles to himself, thinking that if feelings were a fatal STD contracted solely from hookups, a lot of university students would be dead.

Lucky for him, he wouldn’t be.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the semisweet aroma of his coffee stirred to perfection. Above him, the dangling light fixture reminds him a lot of the one back home. The one that hung above the kitchen island. The one that his mother would always stand under while she stirred her coffee in the morning as Wooyoung ate whatever she put together for breakfast. She always looked so tired, and the light only accentuated her exhaustion.

It might have been her who got Wooyoung hooked on coffee like that. It’s not like he minds, though.

_“Your coffee smells good, eomma. Can I try some?”_

_“Sure, honey. Careful not to burn yourself.” She chuckled and slid her mug over._

_He dipped his tongue into the tannish beverage, then took the smallest sip, his lip curling with disgust at the bitter taste. “It doesn’t taste as good as it smells.”_

_“I think that could be true for a lot of things, Wooyoungie.”_

Three creams, and three sugars. A hanging light fixture. The feeling of exhaustion and the physical consequences that come with it.

Wooyoung is exhausted, but he has no choice but to trudge on despite the universe trying to reel him backwards. God knows his mother had to do that too.

✲

Wooyoung is confident he aced his second midterm, so he celebrates by treating himself to a second coffee. This time, however, he orders it overwhelmingly caramelly sweet because life is too short not to have cavities, and he even gets it iced this time. He’s in the mood to freeze his brain after several hours of having to use it.

With the sun now asleep and the moon conquering the sky, Wooyoung begins studying for his midterm tomorrow. There’s only one, but it’s a whole two hours and if Wooyoung doesn’t do well on it he might actually drag Yeosang into the Pacific Ocean with him and commit a murder-suicide.

Wooyoung calls him.

“Hey, Yeo.”

“What is it, asshole? I’m trying to study for a midterm tomorrow.”

“Well, fucking same. Anyway, so I was thinking, if we fail the midterms we take tomorrow, wanna come with me into the Pacific Ocean so we can feed ourselves to the sharks?”

Yeosang laughs, and shit, his laugh is so much cuter than his attitude, Wooyoung thinks. Where his voice is smooth and sassy, his laugh sounds like that of a deep-voiced child’s giggle. “So like, a suicide pact?” he questions.

“Well, yeah. If you didn’t agree, though, I was going to pull a murder-suicide where I knock you out with my bong and then drag you into the Pacific Ocean with me. But a suicide pact is cool too.”

“I’ll get back to you on that, alright?” Yeosang says, still chuckling on the other end of the line. “But what happens if we both ace our midterms?”

“Then unfortunately, we have to live, and the sharks in the Pacific Ocean will starve.”

“Sounds good.”

Click.

Wooyoung laughs with a snort, placing his phone back down next to his laptop. He stays until the café closes and his corneas feel like the Sahara Desert. As he breathes in the night autumn air, he chuckles to himself, picturing him and Yeosang standing on the edge of a cliff where a horde of hungry sharks await below them. However, in his imagination, he’s the one jumping off the cliff while Yeosang stands back, watching and laughing and pointing at his body being torn to shreds by razor sharp teeth, guts and bones spilling everywhere and painting the blue water red.

He then imagines the sea being swallowed up by a valley of flowers where Yeosang spreads out a checkered blanket and holds a picnic for himself and Yunho, with Wooyoung’s tombstone placed so conveniently in the background with the words ‘Slutty Dickhead’ carved into it.

He’s still giggling by the time he gets home, where Yunho is studying in the living room. “What’s so funny?” his roommate asks.

“Do you think I need therapy?” Wooyoung asks, his giggling coming to an ominous halt.

“Yes,” Yunho answers with no hesitation.

Wooyoung nods. “Fair.”

He recedes into his room where he throws his backpack down somewhere near his desk, flops onto his bed, rolls over, and stares at the ceiling. In all of its swirly white grains, he traces a shark and a flower and tries to ignore the uncomfortable gurgling in his stomach.

He shouldn’t have ordered that coffee.

✲

Unfortunately, the events in his imagination from last night have a pretty low chance of happening now, because Wooyoung is pretty damn sure he aced his third midterm. Now, with nothing else to do for the day, he finds himself back at the café with another three creams and three sugars coffee. This time, however, he sits under a different light and has a different textbook laid out in front of him. Pretty much every other student is doing what he’s doing, that is, studying for wannabe finals and probably wanting to blow their brains out but continue tapping away at their laptops and burying their noses in textbooks because that’s what their parents want.

Wooyoung can’t necessarily say the same for him about that last part, but he didn’t go to university for no reason. As much as he doesn’t care about a lot of things, he’s here, and he’s not going to let his scholarship money go to waste.

Once he feels like he’s retained enough useless knowledge for the afternoon, he walks out of the café and spreads his arms, welcoming the oncoming frigid chill of autumn, and sighs deeply as if he’s just awakened from a deep sleep. He probably gets a few questioning passing glances, but he just smacks his lips and hooks his thumbs under his backpack straps before walking off with nowhere particular in mind.

That’s what he’s been doing all along, after all. He walks these university stones just like he does life. Sometimes, with temporary destinations and goals in mind. Most times, aimlessly and with disdain for life in general. The sky is orange today, just like the representative color of autumn itself. No matter where Wooyoung’s feet take him, he’s always underneath that same damn sky. It just changes color. All the while, he continues to walk until his feet are sore and there are blisters just waiting to be peeled off. Until he’s exhausted himself and the only way he can recharge is to shove a bottle down his throat and forget.

After he’s recharged, he walks again. And the loop continues.

It’s okay, though. Wooyoung knows a lot of people have it worse. So he keeps walking, because at least his shoes are still being held together. Some people don’t have shoes. Some people don’t have functioning lungs. Some people can’t even _walk._

Wooyoung sucks it up, just like he always does. And he’s okay.

He thinks about himself sitting in a comfy gray armchair with a man who looks very similar to Yunho sitting across from him, wearing a white button up and beige slacks. There are thin-framed glasses perched upon the bridge of his nose and he has a clipboard and a pen in his hands. The man asks, “So, what brings you in today?” and Wooyoung answers with, “I wanted to feed myself to the sharks.” And the man just smiles, laughs, and then his mouth fills with those deadly stalactites called teeth and he stands up and gobbles Wooyoung up whole. His mouth is a blazingly hot, wet cavern and it smells like rotting fish. And Wooyoung laughs.

He’s laughing to himself, his feet stopping at the university’s designated garden put together by the botanists and ecologists of the student body. It’s a beautiful garden, Wooyoung thinks, filled with a rainbow of flora and greenery. With the onslaught of winter, there aren’t many insects, and as a result, these flowers and other forms of plant life will hibernate. Even so, a student continues to water them off to Wooyoung’s right, a sizable distance between them.

“Hey,” Wooyoung says in the gardener’s direction.

Baffled, the student turns to Wooyoung with a confused frown, pointing to himself as if to ask, “are you talking to me?” with the hose limp in his grasp.

“You’re doing a great job,” Wooyoung tells him. “This garden would suck without you. And I’m sure everyone in your life thinks that about you too.”

Yes, because whoever this student is, his family and friends’ lives would probably suck without him. The stranger offers an awkward smile and a small, “Thank you” in response. Wooyoung salutes him.

“Hey, Yunho,” Wooyoung had said one night after a small drinking session.

“Yeah?”

“What would your life be like if I weren’t in it?”

Yunho had scoffed and thrown one of the sofa’s pillows in Wooyoung’s direction, and it had missed him completely due to the alcohol’s influence. “It would be hella boring, Woo. You’re hilarious, even if you get on my last nerve sometimes.”

“I get on a lot of people’s last nerves, I think.”

“Mhm.”

And sure, that may be true. Sometimes, Wooyoung just doesn’t have a filter. But just as the first rule of being a hoe states, and perhaps the number one rule Wooyoung lives by, it’s that he doesn’t care.

So what if he gets on people’s last nerves? In the words of Kang Yeosang and probably a lot of other people, he’s here for a good time, not a long time. And if he wants to be a pretentious asshole who drinks and smokes and fucks people for fun, then so be it.

He takes another deep breath before walking away from the flowers.

“I think I need therapy,” Wooyoung says as soon as he gets home, but Yunho isn’t there.

Well, if Yunho isn’t there to hear him say it, at least the ghost is.

The ghost watches Wooyoung prepare himself a cup ramyeon because thanks to Yunho, they have a practically neverending supply of it and Wooyoung figures having a heart condition at twenty-one would be a fun way to die. At least it’s better than smoking cigarettes until his lungs cave in. He’s stupid, but not _that_ stupid. Cigarettes don’t even taste good. They don’t offer the salty goodness that a steaming hot cup of ramyeon can deliver.

“Do you think I need therapy?” he whispers to the void. No response. He nods. “Fair.”

Once he’s slurped up the last of the salt water, Wooyoung sets the empty cup down on the coffee table and snickers to himself. “Ah, I’m just kidding. I don’t think I need therapy. Even if I did, I probably wouldn’t get it because there’s no point in it. I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

As he’s standing in the shower, he realizes that he’s spoken to himself three times in the past hour. “Fuck.”

Oh well. He’s still fine, he thinks, and he doesn’t need therapy. It would be hilarious if he got a Yunho-disguised shark as a therapist, though.

✲

With one midterm a day and each night spent studying, Wooyoung feels like his brain has been plucked out of his skull. It’s floating around in the Pacific Ocean just waiting to be shark food but the maritime creatures never slink by. It’s annoying.

When Friday night finally hits, Wooyoung chucks his backpack at the side of the sofa and screams. Again. He’s been doing that a lot. Unperturbed, Yunho appears from the hallway with a towel wrapped around his waist and a toothbrush hanging from his mouth. “I take it you’re excited for the party.”

“I’m ready to drink so much my liver wants to commit suicide,” Wooyoung says, striding past Yunho and stripping off his shirt and jeans despite Yunho still technically occupying the bathroom. “Also, I’m kidding. But I seriously am so ready to get drunk that I forget my own name.”

“Pretty sure you’ve done that already,” Yunho quips, leaning against the doorframe as he watches Wooyoung strip the rest of his clothes, smacking his ass before he steps into the shower.

“Well, I’m ready to do it again then!” Wooyoung sticks his tongue out playfully at his roommate before closing the curtains.

“Yeosang’s coming, just so you know. I think his roommate’s going too. Hell, honestly, the whole campus might end up going.”

“And you say I exaggerate!”

Yunho spits his toothpaste-filled saliva into the sink. “At least my exaggerations aren’t telltale signs of my deteriorating mental health.”

“Touché, Jeong Yunho!”

Scoffing, Yunho finally exits the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Wooyoung lets out a sigh as more steam accumulates in the bathroom, piling on top of the steam that Yunho’s had produced, to the point where it’s actually obscuring his vision. Frowning, he lowers the temperature of the stream to a solid lukewarm in hopes that it would create a little less… foggy atmosphere. “I’m sorry,” Wooyoung whispers to the ghost. He hopes that it will leave him a love note on the mirror.

It doesn’t.

✲

The party is basically in full swing by the time Wooyoung, Yunho, and Yeosang all arrive together, fashionably late on Wooyoung’s behalf. He’d spent a good hour mix and matching outfits, applying makeup, and checking himself out in the mirror before the trio finally left together. Yeosang’s visuals rival his own, with intense eyebrows and green contacts, a leather jacket and pants so skinny they could tear at any point in time. It seems as if they had the same idea with the chokers too, though Yeosang’s is more like a collar if Wooyoung’s being honest. He must really be looking to start his hoe phase tonight because Wooyoung is just so tempted to get drunk and make out with him. If he’s not going to fuck him, he at least wants to shove his tongue down his throat.

Wooyoung spent a good forty-five minutes on his makeup, however, mainly because he wanted his smokey eye blended to perfection. He added purple and silver glitter on his collarbone, which will probably be sweated off by the end of the night, but it’s not like he gives a shit. He looks hot, ripped skinny jeans and all, and he’s ready to get dicked down.

Wooyoung loves the instant wash of heat whenever he enters a party. That stinging feeling in his eyes from all the smoke and the satisfying scent of alcohol and sweat. It gets his adrenaline pumping every time. Most of the partygoers are already too drunk to notice his entrance, and he makes a beeline straight for where he assumes the alcohol would be, being the kitchen. It’s a big house, definitely, but Wooyoung doesn’t have the patience to give himself the grand tour. He needs alcohol in his system, _now._

He immediately sets his eyes on the quarter-full bottle of vodka casually sitting atop the kitchen island, completely ignoring the wide selection of other smaller, more compact and convenient drinks surrounding it. He estimates that the remainder of the bottle would probably equate to two or three shots, which he can definitely handle. While he unscrews the cap, Yunho and Yeosang appear in front of him before he can even tip the liquor into his mouth. “Don’t stop on our accounts,” Yunho says with an amused smirk, crossing his arms.

“Leave some for me, would you? I’m your new best friend, and best friends _share_ ,” Yeosang sneers, but his expression is just as amused.

With a coquettish grin, Wooyoung hands the now open bottle to Yeosang, who takes a swig, one shot, before handing it back. He doesn’t even wince. “That was hot,” Wooyoung says intrepidly, raising the rim to his own mouth and taking the next shot. Wooyoung can play at that game too, swallowing the vodka with little difficulty but suppressing the need to wince. His esophagus burns in the best way.

“Glad I could entertain you by taking a shot, and no, you’re still not getting any of _this_ ,” Yeosang jokes, winking and taking one of the red cups from the stacks and wandering off in search of more alcohol.

Yunho reaches past Wooyoung to grab a can of beer. “So, what’s your game plan for tonight?” he asks, popping the tab.

Wooyoung leans back against the table, tilting his head back as he downs the remaining vodka, and now that Yeosang is gone, he allows himself to cringe. “Well, I actually haven’t gotten laid in about two weeks, so my plan is to find someone once I start to feel these shots. Might pour myself another one if I can find something else that isn’t just beer or fruity shit.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Oh, and definitely not tequila. I’m not trying to puke all over who I’m gonna hook up with. Luckily, that hasn’t happened to me, and hopefully it doesn’t.”

“I’m surprised it hasn’t happened to you, if I’m being honest.”

Wooyoung shrugs, leaving the empty glass bottle back on the table as he follows Yeosang’s footsteps over to the next room. The dining room, home to another table that displays an array of alcoholic beverages. Wooyoung purses his lips, mulling over his options before ultimately choosing a half-empty (or half-full, whatever) bottle of rum. “You’re having that straight up?” Yunho questions.

The bottle is soaked with condensation, but it’s still relatively cold. Wooyoung can handle it, even if he doesn’t like it when it’s not cold. He just wants to drink. Smiling, he twists the cap off and swallows another equivalent of a shot, slamming the bottle back down and recapping it. “Yup.”

Yunho chuckles, finally having a sip from his can. Two shots of vodka and one of rum in, Wooyoung should be feeling it soon, and that’s all he needs. He’s made the mistake of hooking up while _too_ drunk; in those cases, he had a hard time getting it up and it usually ended up in him casually apologizing and leaving his partner, head hung in shame. That was in the beginning stages of his hoe phase, however. He now knows to bag someone early on in the party, while there’s some alcohol in his veins but not enough to hinder his abilities. Then, after the hookup takes place, he’ll return to the party and proceed to get shitfaced. It all works out.

Wooyoung takes Yunho by the hand and drags him to the adjacent living room with high ceilings and colored lights alternating above them. There’s already a mass of people gathered on the makeshift dance floor, with enough room for the pair to slip by and secure their own spot. “Wooyoungie, I can’t dance for long, I have to find Mingi.”

“Oh, Mingi’s here? I still haven’t met him, you know,” Wooyoung says, resting one of his arms over Yunho’s shoulder as he presses forward, swaying his hips to the R&B beats.

“Yeah, and knowing you, you’ll probably find someone before you get to meet him. Plus, I’m not drunk yet,” Yunho laughs, placing one hand over Wooyoung’s waist and chugging his beer with the other.

“Then get drunk and let’s dance.”

“You haven’t found your target for the night yet. Do that first, get it over with, and then we can get drunker and dance together. Sound good?”

Wooyoung nods with a lazy smile, feeling the shots begin to pool in his stomach and spread throughout his body. It’s hot, especially being surrounded by all these people, but he loves it. He’s needed it for the past two weeks. Lowering his hand to Yunho’s neck, he pulls his roommate in and kisses him a goodbye before patting him on the shoulder. “Go find your boyfriend.”

“He’s straight,” Yunho says before winking and walking away.

Wooyoung chuckles to himself as he lets the beats sink in, thrumming in his blood and bones and fueling his fire, his wants and needs. He rolls his body to the beats, closing his eyes and raising his hands above his head. It’s bliss, he thinks, being enclosed in such a tight space where somehow, ironically, he feels free. Freed of midterms and ghosts and shark therapists, he allows himself to dance out every sliver of stress that he’s built up over the past two weeks, and hopefully, he’ll have it fucked out of him by the end of the night.

He breathes in deeply.

_“Try it,” a faceless boy had said._

_Wooyoung frowned, sniffing the liquid in the cup reluctantly. “It doesn’t smell good.”_

_“You’ll feel really good once you drink it. You’ll feel… happy.”_

For tonight, Wooyoung will let himself be happy.

He’ll let the alcohol control him because he’s so sick of controlling himself. Just like the universe, he wishes something else would govern him. He wants to be free of himself. He wants to forget about the sharks and the ghost and the valley of flowers too beautiful that they shouldn’t exist in nature. The only thing he’s proud of is his fucking tombstone. So what if he’s a slutty dickhead? The wise words constantly spoken, “I’m here for a good time, not a long time,” have never rung so true to Wooyoung. He’s felt this way for as long as he can remember.

Sure, he’s going to die one day. If he’s going to be remembered as something as crude as a slutty dickhead, he’d honestly rather be remembered as that than not be remembered at all. Because at least people will remember he was the one with the sharp tongue and no shame, who wore glitter on his collarbones and drank until he couldn’t remember his name. Who fucked around with whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, because the post-orgasmic bliss gave him just a fraction of the happiness he wished he had.

It’s something, and even though Wooyoung knows it’s always going to be temporary, he’ll take it.

As the music and his heartbeat become one, he feels a hand on his waist. “Excuse me,” a voice says, “you look a little lonely dancing by yourself. Is it okay if I join you?”

And as cheesy as it is, Wooyoung can’t help but smile. He turns around, expecting to see some skeezy-looking dick-for-brains facing him, but that’s far from the truth.

His head takes a little bit to catch up. The words that the stranger had spoken were not out of mindless lust, but rather genuine consideration, maybe even concern. It was polite. The body he’s facing isn’t towering over him and exerting overly dominant energy that speaks, “I’m here to fuck you hard and be done with you.” No, this stranger isn’t much taller than him, and the first thing Wooyoung notices about him is the purple gemstone beneath his left eye. He’s gorgeous, Wooyoung thinks, with a closed-mouth grin that may or may not be _nervous._ Friendly eyes and an overall warm presence that almost steals Wooyoung’s breath right from his damaged lungs.

“Sure,” Wooyoung says, his confidence wavering for a split second because this stranger has truly startled him.

As friendly as this stranger sounded, he’s still nothing short of sensual. He takes Wooyoung by the arm and lowers his hand to Wooyoung’s waist, gripping it tenderly as he pulls him close and spins him around. Wooyoung has been in this position plenty of times before, with his back pressed up against a stranger’s torso and his ass against their crotch. He’d sway his hips and they’d move with him. Some had no sense of rhythm and just wanted someone to get their dick hard. Which, Wooyoung was okay with because they end up in bed anyway. But this stranger, he immediately wraps his arms around Wooyoung’s front and closes them around his waist, locking him in, and setting his own rhythm. Wooyoung follows it, feeling as if he’s just taken a huge hit from his bong back home. His head is smoke and his lungs are strings being played with.

This stranger knows how to move.

Wooyoung finds his fingers placed right on top of this stranger’s. They might be a bit clammy, but it doesn’t matter. The song is slow, seductive, and the stranger sets a pace so languid that Wooyoung can _feel_ him. His chest undulating against his back, his cock slowly hardening against his ass, and his taunting fingers creeping up the hem of his shirt.

“Shit,” Wooyoung gasps as the stranger’s fingers brush against his abdomen. He raises one of his arms, enclosing it around the stranger’s head and pulling him into his neck. His lips skim over his neck teasingly.

“What’s your name?” the stranger asks against the shell of his ear.

And, well, shit. Plenty of people have asked his name, but never this early on. “It’s Wooyoung,” he answers, leaning back and letting his head fall on this stranger’s shoulder.

His breath is hot against his ear as he responds with, “My name is San.”

San. Wooyoung has never met a San. He’s met plenty of people with the same name but never a San. San, the stranger with a warm smile and a violet gem beneath his left eye. With broad shoulders and an embrace that has Wooyoung breathless.

“It’s nice to meet you, San,” Wooyoung says as San’s hands travel further up, stealing even more of his shallow breaths.

“Likewise, Wooyoung.”

San’s blunt nails dig into his hips, eliciting a low groan from him before he breaks free from the embrace, spinning around to face the now named stranger and crash his lips to his. San reciprocates immediately, as if he senses Wooyoung’s intentions, hands still attached to his waist as his fingertips dig into the skin there. Wooyoung moans into the kiss, the vibrations traveling up towards his head, blurring out everything else around him, where all he can focus on are San’s lips and his devilish tongue slipping into his mouth. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t gotten laid in two weeks, but he’s helplessly hard already, and from what he can tell, San is too.

San tastes like alcohol too, though there’s no way Wooyoung can identify what it is when all he can do is _feel._ It’s the all-encompassing heat, from San’s mouth to the bodies surrounding them to the alcohol present in his blood, his head is spinning and all he can do is let San take him over. San is the one to govern him tonight.

“You know where this is gonna go,” Wooyoung murmurs against his lips.

“Then take me there, Wooyoung.”

So he does.

Having been to numerous parties in all sorts of settings, Wooyoung is familiar with the layouts of most houses. He finds the stairs easily and ascends them clumsily, from both the alcohol and the lustful haze, with San’s hand in his as they both stumble into one of the bedrooms which is luckily vacant.

(And as if the host of this party knew what their bedrooms would be used for, each doorknob has a ‘vacant’ slash ‘do not disturb’ sign that Wooyoung swiftly flips around before entering. Also, the door locks. Wooyoung silently thanks the universe.)

San yanks his shirt off over his head in one suave, swift motion, hungry eyes and impatient hands as he helps Wooyoung out of his. They both fall onto the bed, their hands and mouths exploring the uncharted territories of each other, hurried yet slow at the same time. Wooyoung wonders if San is intent on torturing him or something because he’s taking his precious time feeling him up, his cock straining in his tight jeans so much that it’s starting to hurt.

“Please, off,” Wooyoung whines as he fumbles with the button of his jeans. San smirks, popping it easily and helping him out of them, _just_ his jeans, and when Wooyoung goes to take his underwear off, San stops him, pinning his wrists down beside him.

“Let’s make it last a little, yeah?” He winks, and Wooyoung’s dick twitches with interest.

Wooyoung is normally an impatient person. He likes to fuck, come, and go back downstairs to drink the rest of the night away. But there’s something about San that has him intrigued, hooked, and he lets San kiss down his torso until he reaches his clothed cock, continuing to mouth at it through the fabric until there’s a wet patch of both precome and spit. Wooyoung bites his bottom lip and whines, hips unintentionally bucking up against San’s mouth.

“Someone’s impatient,” he notes, smirking.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Wooyoung quips back, returning a smirk of his own. “Please, _fuck_ , I want it so bad.”

“Well, since you requested it so nicely.” San’s grin never leaves as he finally frees Wooyoung’s cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s achingly hard, dick standing straight up against his stomach and head already damp with precome.

San rids himself of the remainder of his clothes, though he pulls out a condom and four packets of lube from his pocket before he tosses the garments somewhere beside the bed. He puts them down next to Wooyoung, taking him by surprise as he lowers himself down and licks a stripe up Wooyoung’s cock. “Wait, what are you doing?” Wooyoung blurts.

San frowns, eyebrows creasing as he looks at Wooyoung incredulously. “Um, I’m going to suck your dick?”

“You’re not gonna fuck me?”

San continues to look at him in disbelief as he grabs the base of Wooyoung’s cock. “Well, I was planning on it _after_ I prep you.”

“You don’t have to suck my dick, though.”

“What if I want to?”

Well shit. Wooyoung’s definitely not used to this. Sure, there have been some times where people suck his dick before they get to the main event, but the majority of the time, they finger him open until he says it’s okay. It usually ends up hurting a bit because he’s too restless, too eager to get fucked that he doesn’t wait until he’s properly stretched. Wooyoung doesn’t entirely mind that though; he still gets off and sometimes the stretch and burn is nice.

“Well, if you’re that impatient.” San sighs but chuckles as well, tearing open one of the packets of lube and coating his fingers with it before pressing one against Wooyoung’s hole. “I’ll multitask, then.”

San swallows around Wooyoung’s cock again as he strokes his fingers against his entrance, and Jesus Christ, Wooyoung is pretty sure this has only happened once or twice before. Where they finger _and_ blow him at the same time. His thighs tense as San’s finger slips past the resistance, releasing a whine as San’s tongue works around the girth of his cock. It’s as if there’s absolutely no alcohol in his system, the way he’s feeling San like this. Sure, his head is swimming and his limbs feel like jelly, but he loves it. He’s at San’s mercy. He’s finally relinquished control.

A second finger slides in beside the first and the two work together to scissor Wooyoung open, pressing deep inside him until they’re up to the knuckle. San has _definitely_ been around this block before because he finds his prostate way too easily, way too quickly, and has Wooyoung a whining, moaning mess before he’s even begun to fuck him. His fingers worm around inside him, stretching him open and hitting all the right places.

“W-wait, San,” Wooyoung chokes out.

“What?” San lifts his head, though his fingers continue to move.

“I-I’m ready. Want you.”

San’s fingers don’t stop; in fact, there’s a third finger poking at his entrance next to the two already inside him. “Why do I doubt that?”

“What are you talking about? I’m telling you, I’m ready.”

San chuckles and reaches over, picking up another packet of lube and tearing it open with his teeth. He drizzles it all over Wooyoung’s cock and over his third finger before pressing it in along with the other two. Wooyoung gasps at the stretch of the sudden intrusion. “No offense, Wooyoung, but you seem like you’re _too_ impatient. I want to make this good for you. Memorable, even.”

What the fuck.

Wooyoung grits his teeth. He’s frustrated, no doubt, because San is all too cocky about this, smirking as he works three fingers in him, like he’s planning something. He’s being too considerate despite that arrogant grin of his. Making sure Wooyoung is properly stretched. Wants their fuck to be memorable. What kind of bullshit is he spewing? It’s a hookup; how could it possibly be memorable? But he’s come this far, San has three fingers in his ass and Wooyoung thinks, he better fuck his brains out or else he’s gonna be pissed.

“And I don’t mean to gloat or anything, but I fuck _well._ You’re gonna feel it if I don’t prep you right.”

Wooyoung lets out an annoyed huff, only to have his prostate prodded again as a response. San sucks the head of his cock back into his mouth, tonguing the slit as his entire hand moves along with his fingers. Wooyoung is beyond the point of no return now, head in the clouds, completely having forgot about his prior petulance and giving himself back up to San.

It’s as if San is the one to deem him ready, as he pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the sheets below. He grabs the condom and tears the package open with his teeth again, his fervent eyes boring into Wooyoung’s. The purple gem is still there, right below his left eye, and it almost seems to shimmer.

As soon as the condom is rolled on, San positions himself at Wooyoung’s entrance, slowly pressing forward and working his hips shallowly, his cock stretching him open even more so than his fingers. Wooyoung grips the sheets as his eyes flutter shut, cock leaking against his stomach and heart pounding in his chest. He lets out the tiniest whimper as San continues further in until he’s buried at the hilt, pausing to let Wooyoung breathe. “Are you okay?” he asks.

_Am I okay? What kind of question is that?_

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Wooyoung answers, but he can’t help that it comes out as a half-moan because San immediately starts thrusting shallowly, his movements only continue to work him even further open. Wooyoung can’t help but feel like he’s in for something because San is being too gentle with him. He’s being too considerate, fingering him with three digits instead of two while also sucking his dick. That’s not right. That’s not how it’s supposed to go.

Who even is this guy?

As the noises leaving Wooyoung’s lips grow in volume, San leans in, planting his hands on either side of Wooyoung’s head as the change in angle has San’s cock traveling even deeper inside him. “Wooyoung,” he grunts, his movements not halting once, “how flexible are you?”

“What? I’m, um, pretty flexible—”

Before Wooyoung can get another word out, San is hooking his arms underneath Wooyoung’s legs and leaning forward again, bringing his legs with him and in turn, lifting his ass off the bed. “ _Fuck_ , San!” Wooyoung gasps as San’s cock plows into him, now even deeper than before. “Y-You’re so fucking deep, oh my god.”

“This is what I mean when I said I fuck well,” San practically growls, his face dangerously close to Wooyoung’s. Wooyoung can already feel himself melting, submitting completely, because San really _is_ fucking him well and he wants every previous thought and word of vice to drown. San is fucking him _well._

San, who was friendly from the get-go. San, who took his time to touch Wooyoung, to make him feel good before fucking him. San, who used the word ‘gloat’ instead of ‘brag’ and stopped him when he said he was ready when he probably wasn’t.

The only thought that remains is _who even is this guy?_

San is ripping every word from his mouth, however, where all he can produce are incoherent moans, maybe a few curses here and there, but all he can really focus on is San’s cock hitting him so fucking deep, to the point where there are tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and his moans are starting to sound a little bit like sobs. His neglected cock is still caught between them, aching to come, and as if he senses Wooyoung’s unease, he slows his thrusts and leans back. “You okay?” he asks.

Wooyoung nods mindlessly. “Y-yeah, just… wanna come.”

San smirks and wraps his fingers around Wooyoung’s wet length, stroking him lazily. “You’re gorgeous, Wooyoung, you know that?”

And normally, Wooyoung would say yes. Wooyoung would look at himself and say that he looks fucking hot because he knows he is. He’s attractive, and that’s how he lures people in. It’s how he lured San in. But now, San, the man with the purple gemstone beneath his eye and blue-black hair that glistens underneath the dim bedroom lights, has him speechless.

San is only moving in the slightest when Wooyoung spills onto his stomach, unable to produce any sort of warning because he’s so fucking done. He gives up. San has him, all of him, and there’s nothing he can say or think or do about it.

“Fuck,” San says out of amusement, grunting as his thrusts come to a gradual stop and he’s pressing forward again, cock pulsing into the condom as he comes deep inside Wooyoung.

Wooyoung has been reduced to trembling thighs and broken moans while San pulls out, exhaling deeply as he removes the condom, tying it and tossing it into the bin next to the bed. He even disposes of the wrappers.

“Thank you, Wooyoung,” San says as he’s redressing himself.

“For what?” Wooyoung replies, still reeling from his orgasm.

“For that, of course.”

Wooyoung blinks hard as the alcohol creeps back up on him. His limbs are heavy and his vision is starting to blur again now that San is no longer encapsulating him. “I didn’t do anything,” he says.

“Maybe. But even so, I enjoyed it, and I hope you did too.”

_‘I hope you did too?’_

“Why are you so nice?” Wooyoung blurts out just as San is about to walk out the door.

San, the stranger with the warm smile, looks at him fondly. “Why would I _not_ be nice?” He chuckles. “You’re a strange one, Wooyoung. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.”

And then he’s gone. San, the stranger with the midnight black hair and the purple gemstone, leaves him naked on the bed with an uncomfortable twist in his chest.

✲

When Wooyoung finally comes to his senses and his bones start to rejuvenate, he musters enough strength to rejoin the party and find Yunho, who’s accompanied by Yeosang and an unfamiliar face. “Oh, Wooyoung! Judging by the smudged makeup, I’m assuming you just got laid,” Yunho says, slinging his arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders.

“Yeah, and now I’m ready to get drunk,” he mutters, snatching Yunho’s cup and pounding whatever’s in it. Beer. Yunho doesn’t even bat an eyelash at it.

“What’s got you so snappy?” Yeosang asks, offering up his own cup, which Wooyoung gladly takes. “Was it that bad?”

“No,” Wooyoung answers, chugging whatever’s in Yeosang’s cup. It’s fruity, but it’s definitely laced with strong liquor judging from the burn. “It was actually terribly good and I’m ready to forget about it.”

“Why would you want to forget about a good fuck?” asks the stranger. “Oh, I’m Jongho by the way. Yeosang’s roommate, and the token straight guy.”

Wooyoung bursts out laughing and hands the cup back to Yeosang. “Well, for one, he was fucking _gorgeous_ and took his fucking time and asked me shit like, ‘are you okay?’ and he even bragged about how good he fucked and he ended up being right. So, I’m ready forget about his stupidly attractive face and purple gemstone and get so drunk I forget my _and_ his name.”

There’s a long, collective silence between the four of them, giving Wooyoung’s body time to absorb his friends’ drinks. Yeosang looks at Yunho questioningly before turning back to him. “I don’t get you, Wooyoung.”

“I don’t get me either.”

“I don’t think anybody will ever get you,” Yunho says, but Wooyoung knows he doesn’t mean it condescendingly. It’s just a fact. Nobody will get how Wooyoung comes up with such crazy scenarios in his mind, which for some reason recently, have been about getting eaten by sharks. Who knows, with midterms finished, he might come up with a new scenario to envision.

Wooyoung just scoffs and reaches past to them to grab whatever bottle of alcohol is behind them, not bothering to check exactly what it is before unscrewing the cap and taking a long swig. “Come on, Yunho, you promised me a dance.”

“Fine,” Yunho says, but he plucks the bottle right out of Wooyoung’s hands. “But no more drinks. I’m not in the mood to deal with whatever hangover you’re left with tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Wooyoung grumbles, and Yunho takes his hand and leads him to the giant mass of people from before, which has seemingly grown in size. He wonders where San went.

He shoves the thought out of his head as soon as he thinks it. Fuck San. With just the right amount of alcohol in him, he grinds up against Yunho, all in good fun, laughing as if he didn’t just have the dicking of his life, as if a single stranger weren’t on his mind. No, the image of a purple gemstone and a head of shining black hair is gone, just like the night will be, and Wooyoung will continue his walk of life. He will continue to walk along the stones and ignore the stinging of his feet and his legs’ pleas to stop because he must go on.

The music has changed genres now, from sensual R&B to an energetic EDM. Everyone around him indulges in the fast-paced electrobeats, fist pumping and head banging, so fucking crowded and scorching hot, but this is what Wooyoung lives for. He lives for the rush. For the pounding heart and the temporary infinite feeling.

He’s sweating endlessly. He can’t breathe. But god, he loves it.

The night air is cold, and Wooyoung doesn’t necessarily know how he gets there. He’s still laughing, at least, he thinks he is. He’s walking, maybe stumbling a bit, but that’s okay. Everybody stumbles in life. Wooyoung just happens to stumble more than most. He thinks that there are people still around him, though there’s a significantly less amount.

“You’re such an idiot, Wooyoung,” somebody mumbles. Wooyoung agrees. He is an idiot.

He honestly doesn’t know how he managed to get into university twice, both on full scholarships. His grades have always been pretty good, and he considers himself to be a solid persuasive writer. The academic departments of both universities must have loved his work. He doesn’t understand how, though. He doesn’t understand how anything of his could ever be loved. He’s nothing special, so how could anything he does be special?

“Just lay him down here,” the voice from before instructs.

He’s against something plush. A pleasant warmth flows over him.

“Will he be okay?” a different voice asks.

“Yeah, this isn’t the first time it’s happened. It’s been worse.”

“Jesus.”

A sigh. “He… does this fairly often.”

“I can tell. Aren’t you worried about him?”

A pause. “Yeah, but it’s not like he’ll change. Pretty sure he does this all to cope, but I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about personal stuff that much.”

A hum of consideration. “I just hope he doesn’t become an alcoholic or get alcohol poisoning one of these days.”

“Me too. As hopeless as he may seem, I have _some_ faith in him.”

Wooyoung wants to laugh. Maybe he does. Someone has faith in him, which amuses him endlessly. Whoever it is, they’re just as idiotic as he is.

_“I love you, honey. I hope you know that.”_

_“I love you too, eomma.”_

_“Remember that there are going to be people who don’t love you, and that’s okay. It’s okay not to be loved. Just be careful with people, okay?”_

_“Okay.”_

_“I love you, sweetie.”_

_“I love you too, eomma.”_

✲

Waking up feels like a punch to the gut. His eyes are swollen and his back hurts and he wants to die more than usual. However, as soon as he opens his eyes, there’s a very smug-looking Yunho sitting beside him, holding out a white pill and a glass of water. “Good morning, sunshine.”

“I hope you get killed in a very convenient accident,” Wooyoung groans, snatching the pill and sticking it in his mouth. Yunho leans over and tips the water into his mouth, and he swallows the pill, though it leaves an uncomfortable lump in his throat.

“That’s no way to treat a roommate who dragged your ass back home after you drank yourself into dissociation. Also, if you’re gonna puke, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Wooyoung groans, shoving his head underneath his pillow. “Give me a few hours and maybe I won’t.”

Yunho nods. “Solid deal.”

And he walks out.

Wooyoung lets out a deep sigh and lets his body throb with the aches. He’s been in this state before. His back and ass hurt, probably because he got laid the night before. His head is pounding; that’s nothing new. His stomach is churning but if he waits it out and lets it pass, he’ll be fine. He could probably be up and running within the next few hours.

The digital clock reads eleven a.m.

Yeah, he’s got time.

✲

Wooyoung sees Yeosang the next day, because when he wakes up at noon, Yeosang is sitting on his living room couch with a mug of coffee in his hands that probably isn’t three creams and three sugars. “Oh, Wooyoungie!” Yeosang chirps up as soon as the zombified version of Wooyoung trudges in. “You’re coming with me to the pet store today!”

“What?” Wooyoung croaks, his voice still dormant from sleep. He clears his throat. “Why would I do that?”

“So I can pick up supplies for my fish tank, duh.”

“You have a fish tank?”

Yeosang smiles proudly and nods. “Yup! It’s my goal to make it the gayest fish tank known to man. I get a new fish whenever I make a new friend, so you need to come with me so I can pick one out for you!”

And, well, shit. Wooyoung thinks having a fish named after him would be pretty cool. “Does Yunho already have one?”

“Indeed I do,” Yunho says. “It’s just a goldfish. Plain and simple.”

“Quite unlike you, Yunho,” Wooyoung says, faking offense. “You are one of the most fascinating creatures I have ever come across. How dare you stoop so low as to choose a _goldfish_ to represent you in Yeosang’s gay ass fish tank!”

Yunho shrugs with a pout. “It was cute, and I am most definitely cute.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Now motivated by the excitement of having a fish named after him, Wooyoung happily accompanies Yeosang to the pet store while Yunho leaves for the studio for practice. Wooyoung’s never been to this pet store since, well, he doesn’t own any pets. But it’s just like any other pet store chain, with bright fluorescent lights and small critters boxed up in glass tanks and all sorts of unnecessarily gaudy accessories. Wooyoung assumes whatever decorations adorn Yeosang’s fish tank are like that too.

Yeosang leads Wooyoung to the back of the store where fish tanks are stacked upon each other, home to freshwater and saltwater fish alike, illuminated by bright cerulean backgrounds and algae. Yeosang tells Wooyoung to read the descriptions of the fish because he can’t have his fish going around killing the others (which is apparently a thing). As much as Wooyoung wants to have the biggest, most obnoxious fish ever to represent him in Yeosang’s tank, he must refrain.

“Oh, Yeosang? Is that you?” a deep voice calls from their left.

“Oh, shit, Mingi?”

Mingi. Song Mingi? The guy that Yunho considers his best friend?

“Holy shit, I didn’t know you worked here!” Yeosang says, beaming as Mingi approaches him.

He’s a hell of a lot taller than both of him, maybe around Yunho’s height. Maybe that’s why they’re best friends. “Yeah, I do! Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, I’m Wooyoung, Yunho’s roommate.”

Mingi’s entire face lights up, mouth expanding into a wide gummy smile. “Holy shit, _you’re_ the Jung Wooyoung I’ve heard so much about! I’m surprised I haven’t met you yet. Well, hello, I’m Mingi.” Wooyoung puts on a smile and shakes his hand. As much as he doesn’t care for how he presents himself to people, he can’t help but feel a bit awkward finally meeting the guy. He wonders if Mingi feels the same way.

“So what can I help you guys with? Looking to get a fish?” Mingi asks.

“Yeah. Honestly, I’m surprised I haven’t run into you here. I stop by all the time to get supplies for my fish tank.”

Mingi shrugs. “Maybe it’s on days when I’m not here, or maybe you’re always being helped by someone else. Well, whatever the case, now you know I work here!”

“Wait,” Wooyoung says, “you two met each other before?”

Yeosang chuckles. “We actually met at the party on Friday. Yunho finally got around to introducing us. You, on the other hand, were too busy being drunk off your ass to actually meet him.”

“It’s fine,” Mingi reassures with a waving gesture. “I left pretty early anyway. Parties aren’t really my thing.”

Wooyoung can’t relate in the slightest.

“So, take a look at our glorious selection of fish and let me know when you’ve decided!”

Yeosang taps Wooyoung’s shoulder, motioning at the fish tanks with his head. “Well, Woo, choose your fish.”

“Mingi-yah!” a voice suddenly calls out. “Did you restock the cat litter?”

Mingi sucks in his bottom lip and lets out a heavy sigh. “Fuckin’ hell,” he grumbles before following up with, “No, I’m sorry! I forgot!”

“Come on, Byeol needs a litterbox change and I can’t really do that if my forgetful roommate slash coworker doesn’t restock the cat litter!”

Wooyoung can hear footsteps approaching from behind, and when he turns to face the stranger, he’s hit with a wave of odd nostalgia, like he’s seen this person before.

His midnight black hair shimmers beneath the white fluorescent lights, soft brown eyes, and while his face doesn’t exactly spell happiness, his features remind Wooyoung a lot of somebody he’s met before.

The stranger stops in place as soon as he’s face to face with Wooyoung and Yeosang. “Wait,” he says. “Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung’s throat constricts as he wracks his brain for this stranger’s name. He knows this face. It’s so, so familiar, but Wooyoung can’t quite find it in his memory.

“Wait, what?” Mingi pipes up. “Wait! It’s _this_ Wooyoung?”

The stranger’s mouth curves up into an all-knowing, shit-eating grin. “Yup. It’s _this_ Wooyoung.”

Mingi stifles a massive laugh. “Holy shit, what a small world.”

“What? I’m so lost,” Yeosang comments.

Wooyoung frowns, eyes swiftly glancing down at the employee’s nametag, and _holy shit._ That’s right.

The hair, the eyes. The warm smile. The purple gemstone beneath his left eye. It’s not there anymore, but it’s unmistakably him.

“S-San,” Wooyoung says, trying his best not to choke. “It’s, um, good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Wooyoung.”

His memory is slowly starting to crawl back into his brain, and he really wishes it wouldn’t. Here he is, sandwiched between his fling, his fling’s roommate slash coworker slash Yunho’s best friend, and his own best friend who just came here for a fish.

Wooyoung is bold. He is brash and a bit of an asshole. He’s confident and usually doesn’t give a shit about what people think of him. He rarely feels nervous.

But now, his palms are starting to clam up again as the stranger’s name and face both manifest and solidify in his mind, the way he moved inside him and held him both roughly and delicately at the same time.

“Can somebody tell me what’s going on?” Yeosang blurts.

“Wooyoung and I got acquainted at the party,” San says with the same omnipresent grin.

“Oh, wow! Really is a small world, huh? How come I didn’t get to meet you?” Yeosang is looking between all three of them now, eyes searching for an unspoken answer, and it takes two wicked smirks and a very panicked-looking Wooyoung for him to piece the puzzle together.

His mouth drops open.

“Oh. Shit.”

Oh shit indeed, Wooyoung thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)


	2. glass half empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you, like, okay?” Mingi asks in between giggles.
> 
> “That question is so fucking pointless,” Wooyoung entertains with a shake of the head. “As a public service announcement, whenever any of you are about to ask that question, try to remember that the answer will always be no.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains some recreational drug use, passively suicidal remarks/thoughts, minor dissociation, some pretty vague (and rough) yunwoo sex, and some woosan smut towards the end :)
> 
> brought to you by 'sweater weather' by the neighbourhood

Something in the universe shifts. Perhaps a gaping black hole appeared out of nowhere and is swallowing up everything around it, the stars, planets, and even neighboring galaxies, wherever this black hole may be. Perhaps the universe is so fixed on disposing of it that it completely forgets about Wooyoung, because ever since Wooyoung ran into San at the pet store, it seems as if the universe completely ignores his pleas to never run into the midnight-haired man again. It’s as if the universe shoved a rulebook in a foreign language right into his tired hands and said, “here, you’re on your own, kid,” and now, Wooyoung has no choice but to encounter San whenever.

Because the universe really seems to love fucking Wooyoung over like that.

Wooyoung sees a lot of his past hookups around campus, and both parties favor acting like nothing ever happened because it’s easier that way. Hell, Wooyoung might see his some of his past flings and not even recognize them because of his shit memory and blackout drunkenness. With his ex-flings on the same page as him, it minimizes the chances of complications, and Wooyoung can continue walking without an obstacle standing in his path.

With Choi San, it’s a path riddled with stalagmites and lava, because no matter where Wooyoung goes, it’s as if that man’s stupid warm smile and shimmering hair is there to haunt him.

When Wooyoung and Yeosang had gotten home from the pet store, Wooyoung watched Yeosang welcome the new fish to the tank, a neon tetra, which, according to Yeosang, has a relatively short lifespan in comparison to the other fish in his tank. Wooyoung had laughed at him and said, “God, I wish that fish was me then.” Yeosang simply rolled his eyes and told him that the last neon tetra he had seemed to disappear out of nowhere. Perhaps the filter had swallowed him up or something. Or, according to Wooyoung’s suggestion, perhaps it swam up to the filter and committed suicide because it wanted to know what it was like up in fishy heaven. Yeosang countered with the point that if there’s a fishy heaven, there’s also a fishy hell, and that’s where Wooyoung’s would go if it ever decided to swim into the filter and kill itself. Wooyoung nodded consideringly.

Wooyoung _thought_ that would be the end of that whole thing because he has no reason to go to the pet store, nor does he have any other connections to San… and then he remembered the fact that he’s best friends with Jeong Yunho, who’s best friends with Song Mingi, who’s roommates and coworkers with Choi San.

The intermingling connections plus the fact that the universe shifted resulted in Wooyoung seeing San a lot more than he’d like.

The first time had been by chance, to be fair. Wooyoung had gone down to his designated spot at the café on Wednesday night, only to see San sitting at a booth near the window accompanied by an unfamiliar face. The guy had glasses that were way too mainstream for Wooyoung’s taste, shaggy platinum blond hair, and bags under his eyes so deep they could hold his body. They seemed to be in deep conversation, and Wooyoung wanted nothing to do with San, so needless to say, he didn’t interact with San at all. That didn’t stop him from occasionally glancing up from his work, however, because as much as Wooyoung doesn’t want to see San, the man is _very_ attractive.

He doesn’t want to _see_ San, but he doesn’t mind _looking_ at San, especially if it’s from afar, obstructed by a laptop screen and several meters away.

The second time had been when Wooyoung decided to take Yeosang’s skateboard for a test ride despite not knowing how to skate whatsoever. The university pathways were barren and dimly lit, so it was a perfect scene for his dignity just in case he managed to royally fuck up and land on his ass, and just as Wooyoung had predicted, that’s exactly what happened.

Except what he wasn’t counting on was Choi San appearing above him, immediately crouching down to help him up, but he swatted San’s hands away before he could even lay a finger on him. “Sheesh, are you okay?” San had asked with an enormous frown, arm still outstretched around Wooyoung even as he got up, like he’d fall over again.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I meant to do that.”

The frown turned upside down instantly and was replaced with an incredulous smirk. San scoffed, crossing his arms and cocking a hip out. “I just watched you suck this pavement’s face, and you said you _meant_ to do that?”

“I was just getting acquainted with it. Merely a chaste peck, that’s it. I was not _sucking its face_.”

“Uh huh.” San shook his head, bending down to grab Wooyoung’s board, which he found a bit insulting because he still had his two fucking arms and he could do it himself. Still, San handed it back to him, and with an unwavering, shit-eating grin that reminded him all too well of Yunho’s, he said, “Have a nice night, Wooyoung. Try not to, ahem, chastely peck the other pavements. This one might get jealous.” He gently tapped the poor pavement with his foot (never mind Wooyoung, whose face now probably has numerous scrapes on it), before walking off without a proper goodbye.

Wooyoung gawked at San’s back for a solid ten seconds before snapping himself out of it. The _nerve_ this guy had to sound as equally pretentious as him.

Wooyoung didn’t tell Yeosang about San when he returned the board, but Yeosang did quite audibly laugh in his scratched-up face. “I hope that successfully put a dent in your ego,” he’d said.

“I hope you fall so hard on your ass one day it prolapses.”

“Honey, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Scratch that. I hope you fall off a very high platform and land on your head so hard that your entire body prolapses.”

“Wooyoungie, I think you try too hard.”

Wooyoung gave him a tight-lipped smile then and nodded. “Touché.”

Internally, however, he laughed. If only Yeosang knew how very little he actually tries and the reason why he doesn’t.

✲

As if the universe has decided to completely abandon Wooyoung and his perfunctory exploits, he’s minding his own business one peaceful afternoon at the café when he hears a thump and feels a slight movement of his table. Glancing up, his insides curl in on themselves and a cloud of acid rain materializes over him as his entire body floods with dread because Choi San just decided to invade his personal space and insert himself into his booth without a single warning. Wooyoung instantly frowns, his pencil coming to an abrupt halt on his paper. “What are you doing here?” he asks, and he can’t help how impertinent the question sounds.

“Having a coffee, how about you?” San answers nonchalantly, taking an obnoxious sip from his to-go cup.

“If it’s not three creams and three sugars, I don’t want to talk to you.”

“It’s actually three creams and three and a half sugars, but go off.”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow, eyeing the cup like it contains rat poison or something. “Three and a half? What the hell do you do with the remaining half?”

“Oh, I don’t use the packets. I have them put it in for me. They’re usually good at eyeballing it.” San slurps the coffee again, his eyes not once leaving Wooyoung’s. “But I assume you use the packets because you want it to be exact. Because anything more or less makes you extremely unhappy and you judge anybody who doesn’t make it the way you make it.”

Okay, San has Wooyoung there, but that doesn’t make Wooyoung any less furious. He makes sure to quite visibly roll his eyes as his eyes and hands return to his doodles, this one being a scene where a simple stick figure is jumping off a rectangle cliff into the Pacific Ocean (which he labels and draws an arrow to), but the ocean waves are realistically detailed in contrast to the stick figure and the rectangle. He’s sketching the outline of the shark, which is going to be as equally realistic as the waves around it, as he has a photo of a shark open on his phone.

“You draw?” San asks.

“Clearly,” Wooyoung mutters, still not bothering to look up.

“It looks nice. I like the simplicity of the stick figure versus the complexity of the waves you got going on there.”

“Thanks.”

“So who’s the stick figure?”

Wooyoung lets out an exasperated sigh and looks up, pencil coming to a standstill once more. “It’s just a stick figure,” he says.

“Yeah, obviously.” San giggles. “But who or what is it supposed to represent?”

“Me,” Wooyoung answers monotone. “I’m jumping off of a rectangle cliff into the Pacific Ocean where a shark will tear my flesh to shreds and paint the water red.”

“Shouldn’t you label the stick figure ‘Wooyoung’ just like you labeled the ocean?”

“Shouldn’t you be doing something else besides bugging me?”

San purses his lips in a smile, humming with a glance to the ceiling before saying, “Mmm, no. I’ve finished all my assignments for the week and I feel like we should get more acquainted with each other. I mean, I have had my dick in your ass already, so—”

“God, I thought _I_ was annoying.” Wooyoung’s jaw is clenched, head fuming as he thinks about two pencils jutting out of San’s eyes. “You know…”

He chuckles, writing out ‘Choi San’ on his paper and drawing an arrow from the name to the stick figure. “There you go. You have now officially become a part of my drawing.”

San smiles fondly, placing his hand flat against his heart. “I’m so touched. And trust me, Wooyoung, you _are_ annoying. But so am I.”

Wooyoung’s lips flatten as he surrenders his pencil to the table with an irritated huff. He crosses his arms on the table, leaning forward slightly and glaring right into San’s stupid brown eyes that he totally doesn’t remember being warm and friendly yet intense and passionate while he was on top of him fucking him stupid. “Well, I’m clearly annoyed, so why aren’t you leaving me alone?” Wooyoung asks.

“If you’re so annoyed, why aren’t you leaving?” San retorts with a smile.

“I was here first. I have every right to remain put.”

“This is a public establishment. I have every right to remain put as well.”

“I did not consent to you invading my personal space.”

San bursts out laughing, his entire face scrunching as he tosses his head back in a full body laugh. “Wooyoung, I reiterate, I’ve had my dick in your ass. I think I’ve well past invaded your _personal space._ ”

“You know—” Wooyoung shuts himself up, realizing that this exchange is going absolutely nowhere because San is looking smug as ever knowing that he’s getting under Wooyoung’s skin. He swears San hasn’t stopped smiling since he sat down. He lets out another frustrated sigh. “What the hell do you want? Why are you here?”

San’s boisterous laughter calms as he lets out a deep breath, recollecting himself and mirroring Wooyoung’s posture. “Look, Wooyoung, I’m sorry for annoying you. I’ll be completely honest with you here, I think you’re very attractive and I can’t stop thinking about the party. And now that I know you’re Mingi’s best friend’s roommate, I think we should try to get along, don’t you think?”

“I’m not going on a date with you,” Wooyoung says.

“This wasn’t me asking you on a date, although I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it. But if you wanna leave that night at the party in the past, then sure. I just think it would be cool if we started hanging out, getting to know each other, because, like, what if Yunho wants to arrange a little group hangout or whatever? Yeosang seems like a cool dude too. I think it would be good if we all got along, no?”

Wooyoung blinks blankly at San, who’s still smiling, but it’s simmered down into one of genuine amity rather than mischief. “What’s your game here?” he asks cautiously.

San’s smile is replaced with a confused frown as he tilts his head slightly. “I don’t know what you mean by that. I’m just trying to make friends here.” He sighs, another tiny smile appearing. “I’m a transfer student, so I don’t know a lot of people here, honestly. Mingi-yah’s my only real friend here on campus since we’ve worked together for a while. That party was honestly the first proper college party I’ve been to."

Wooyoung scoffs, but he can’t help but smile. “Wouldn’t have guessed that judging from how you presented yourself.”

San shrugs. “Mingi gave me advice beforehand. Helped doll me up and all, but the gemstone was my idea. But, ahem, anyway, that’s why I came over here. I guess I didn’t really come across as amicable though, so I sincerely apologize for that.”

“You did manage to irritate me, but at least you didn’t royally piss me off,” Wooyoung says, which San beams at. “So I’ll give you a chance.”

Wooyoung wonders if San’s face hurts from smiling. He smiles way too much for his own good, but it’s cute, Wooyoung thinks. His eyes crinkle at the sides and his eyes glimmer like stars as they fold into crescent moons. Two tiny dimples carve themselves into his cheeks whenever any semblance of a smile surfaces, and god, Wooyoung is a bit of a sucker for dimples. And now that San is up close and not under shitty lighting or alcohol vision, Wooyoung notices trails of freckles dotting his neck, an interesting characteristic that Wooyoung has never seen on another person, and he’s seen _a lot_ of people.

As interesting as Choi San may seem, however, he’s just another person. Wooyoung files through people like paperwork. He’s no different from his past flings. Just another person who’s had their dick up his ass.

Sure, he may have asked Wooyoung if he was okay and took his time prepping him and fucked him until he came harder than he has in a while, but in the end, San is just another human. There are plenty of other humans in the world. He’s not that special.

So, Wooyoung will entertain him. As much as San annoyed him, he has to admit he kind of likes San’s quirky humor and witty remarks. It makes him wonder if _he_ annoys people like San annoyed him.

“Cool!” San’s dimples are ever so present as his entire face lights up like a fucking Christmas tree. “And, I totally don’t mean this in an offensive way, but you kind of seem like the person who just wants to fuck and move on, and I totally get that. If you want to forget that we hooked up or whatever, that’s fine. I just hope we can get along without things being awkward, and if forgetting about that night will help with that, then that’s completely okay.”

Wooyoung observes him suspiciously, his smile still present but eyes spelling the slightest amount of worry. Yes, Wooyoung prefers to fuck and move on, but he supposes he doesn’t see an issue with a fling wanting to get along for the sake of the other people in their lives. It’s not like Wooyoung has had this many connections with his past flings before. If he’s going to start seeing San more often because of Yunho and Mingi, then maybe getting along and being friends themselves will help with that.

And as much as Wooyoung tries to deny it, he can’t stop thinking about that night either.

Yunho is the only person Wooyoung has fucked more than once, but he doesn’t see why he can’t make another exception.

“That’s fine, San. If I’m being honest, you did make that night quite… memorable,” Wooyoung says, one corner of his mouth tugging upwards in a smirk. The statement almost seems to take San by surprise. “You’re right, I’m the type to fuck and move on. But I agree, if we’re going to be seeing each other more because of Yunho and Mingi, then we should get along. I don’t see a reason not to.”

Again with a smile, San nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! And, erm, not to sound like a perv or anything… although I did kind of sound like one in the beginning but, um, we can totally do it again… if you want.”

Wooyoung snorts with laughter as a blush blooms on San’s dimpled cheeks. “Oh, San. You really should get to know me.”

“I’d be glad to.” San reaches out his hand, which is smaller than Wooyoung remembers it to be. “Truce?”

Wooyoung himself smiles and takes it. It’s so fucking soft. “Truce.”

_“How are your friends at school, honey?”_

_“They’re good.”_

_“That’s good. Just remember to be careful, okay? Even friends can betray you.”_

_“Okay, eomma.”_

_“I love you, sweetheart.”_

_“I love you too, eomma.”_

✲

Wooyoung learns that San loves to talk. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, because Wooyoung loves to talk too, but he’s so used to hogging conversations with Yunho and Yeosang that when San takes over that role, he doesn’t know what to do. He stays silent and lets San talk, of course, but he feels a bit bad, knowing that he’ll immediately take the reins of the conversation and somehow manage to make whatever discussion they’re having about him. It’s just a habit of his. He swears his intention is not to be narcissistic, but then again, Yunho has told him over and over that he’s a borderline narcissist, and Wooyoung always replies with “touché” because he really doesn’t know how to respond.

Meanwhile, San speaks about himself among other things _._ And the thing is, San’s life is a lot more interesting than Wooyoung’s. He’s a photography major, and, in his words, he “knows it can be a useless major in some people’s eyes but it’s what he’s passionate about.” He’s transferred from a smaller college where he got most of his prerequisites out of the way, and he’s worked at the pet store for about two years and has known Mingi since then. When San transferred, the two found it convenient to live together.

Wooyoung also learns that San likes three creams, three and a half sugars coffee, the scent of artificial strawberry (specifically Febreze), and the smooth glide of gel pens across a piece of college-ruled notebook paper. He has to agree with that last one. Something about gel pens is so satisfying.

San also likes to indulge in Wooyoung’s imagination sometimes. Wooyoung had told him about the shark scenario and how he couldn’t get it out of his head for an entire week, and San had asked him to go into detail and explain it as best he could. He let Wooyoung ramble for who knows how long about the Pacific Ocean, a dozen rows of shark teeth, a valley of flowers, and his ‘Slutty Dickhead’ tombstone.

“Slutty dickhead?” San had laughed around a bite of chocolate ice cream.

“It’s what I am,” Wooyoung had answered with a shrug.

“I mean, if that’s what you really think.”

It’s really what Wooyoung thinks.

And so, the inevitable group hangout was upon them now. A Friday night, where Yunho decided that they all needed a break from the big parties and instead wanted to hold a smaller, more intimate one that only Mingi, Yeosang, and San are invited to.

Yunho puts Wooyoung in charge of alcohol and gives him his card (big, big mistake on Yunho’s part but Wooyoung supposes that’s how much he trusts him), and Wooyoung fucking _splurges_ , buying them enough liquor to last them the rest of the school year, probably. He doesn’t really know what they like specifically, so he settles for buying a bottle of vodka for himself, a few bottles of soju, a twelve-pack of beer for Yunho and whoever else wants beer (a hard pass for Wooyoung unless there’s literally anything else besides tequila available), and some fruity malt mixes for Yeosang because the guy likes sweet things, he’s learned. He hopes San and Mingi like at least one of his purchases.

And bless the heavens, Yeosang brings weed, but he also brings his roommate. Wooyoung had almost completely forgotten about the guy.

Choi Jongho, a family friend of Yeosang’s who is a year younger than them and _straight_ (well, Mingi is too, but as soon as Wooyoung sees him his gaydar short circuits from the sheer amount of straightness the dude radiates). He’s buff beneath his leather jacket, and Wooyoung can instantly smell the overly masculine odor of cologne on him. He’s not disgusted, just… turned off.

It’s just so odd how Yeosang, who’s even gayer than he is, is roommates with Jongho, the straightest straight guy Wooyoung’s come across so far. But apparently it was Jongho who acquired the weed, so… Wooyoung can’t hate the guy right off the bat.

He’s already a giggling, crossfaded mess with his head perfectly slotted in Yunho’s crossed legs when San confesses that he’s never smoked weed before. Meanwhile, he’s in their living room with Yunho, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Jongho, who are all stoned. Mingi’s in a similar boat as San, but he _has_ smoked before, he just doesn’t do it often.

Yeosang’s in the middle of a joint when he holds it out to San with a droopy smile. “Here, try it.”

“I feel like I’m in a peer pressure commercial or something,” San mumbles, hesitantly taking the joint from Yeosang.

“You seriously don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” Yeosang says, “though it’s a fun time, I’ll tell you that. Just put it in your mouth and suck. Like a dick, but not actually.”

San can’t help but laugh at that. Dubiously, with the joint between his two fingers, he puts it between his lips and inhales for a solid four seconds (Wooyoung counts) before exhaling aimed at the ceiling, a thin trail of smoke following. He coughs, but not as much as Wooyoung did his first time. Wooyoung had to hold a pillow to his face to muffle himself in case his friends’ parents heard him. That, and his lungs felt like they were crumbling beneath his ribcage. He’s gotten used to it now, though.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Yeosang coos, retrieving his joint, finishing it off and snuffing it out. “Yunho darling, roll another.”

“Yessir,” Yunho says, followed by a giggle. “Mingi-yah, you want some?”

“Eh, sure.”

Wooyoung lets out a content sigh, his vision pleasantly fuzzy like the carpet underneath him. He sits up to let Yunho roll the next joint in peace and instead makes a bold move and shimmies next to San, resting his head on his shoulder. “Can I help you?” San asks, chuckling.

“My head gets heavy when I’m stoned. Not to mention I am also drunk. So I need to rest my head on something or I will probably end up with a cracked skull and permanent brain damage.”

“He also likes to exaggerate a lot,” Yunho speaks without looking up from his work.

“I don’t know how you put up with him,” San says.

“I don’t know how I put up with me either,” Wooyoung inputs, further nuzzling his face into San’s neck.

Some seconds later, Yunho is lighting their second joint and taking the first two hits before passing it to Mingi. Similar to San, he coughs after his single hit and washes it down with water, wincing as he passes it to Jongho. “Y’all are amusing,” the youngest says.

“Aren’t we?” Wooyoung asks rhetorically, sticking his tongue out for no apparent reason.

“Do you guys wanna play a game or something? Or tell stories? I don’t know, something,” San suggests.

Yunho chortles, eyes landing on Wooyoung. “Let’s have Wooyoungie here spill some of his thoughts. He’s got quite the imagination.”

“I haven’t been friends with him for as long as Yunho has, but I know he’s got a lot of chaotic things rattling up in that little greenhouse of his. A greenhouse that is inhabited solely by _weeds_.” Yeosang cracks himself up, with Yunho’s laughter joining his. “Speak your mind, Wooyoungie. Say whatever comes to mind.”

Wooyoung blinks lazily. Even though the lighting in their living room has been dimmed for ambience, it’s as if a giant spotlight has replaced their television, glaring directly into his soul and blinding him with the light of a million suns. His eyes squeeze shut despite that not actually being the case. In fact, he’s perfectly able to see minus the blurriness.

So he speaks.

“One day, a few weeks ago, I asked Yunho if he thought I needed therapy, and he said yes. I thought, ‘huh, that’s fair,’ because I could probably benefit from therapy. After all, I had this weird scenario going around in my brain where me and Yeosang were standing at the edge of a cliff, and there was this massive circle of sharks below us, and I jumped off the cliff while Yeosang just stood back and watched my body get torn limb from limb. And _then_ , after Yunho said I could do with some therapy, I imagined Yunho being my therapist, but it was actually a _shark_ , and then all of a sudden Yunho’s mouth opened wide and it was _filled_ with shark teeth and he ate me.”

There are a few heavy seconds of silence before the circle explodes with laughter, including Wooyoung. “Jesus, Wooyoung, you really _do_ need therapy,” Jongho says, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Mayhaps I do,” Wooyoung replies, smiling with closed eyes as the spotlight recedes.

“Are you, like, okay?” Mingi asks in between giggles.

“That question is so fucking pointless,” Wooyoung entertains with a shake of the head. “As a public service announcement, whenever any of you are about to ask that question, try to remember that the answer will always be no.”

There’s another fit of laughter. Wooyoung laughs too, raising his head and glancing over at San.

Instead of laughing, San is just smiling, his warm brown eyes shimmering even beneath such shit lighting. The smile is barely there, Wooyoung notices. Not even a half smile. More like a quarter one. And he’s not laughing. Come to think of it, he hadn’t felt San laugh during the last bout of laughter. He remembers how San had laughed at the café, his entire body having been thrown back by the force of it. Wooyoung felt nothing of the sort.

“You know, instead of asking someone, ‘hey, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’ it should be, ‘hey, did it hurt when a giant shark swallowed you whole?’” Jongho snickers and sends the circle sans Wooyoung and San into another round of laughter.

Wooyoung is too focused on San’s quarter smile and warm eyes fixed on the carpet. The conversation between the others dwindles to a mere humming in Wooyoung’s ears while his eyes hone in on San’s neck. He imagines the freckles being marking points on a map. The darkest one is the destination, and the others around it are landmarks. One of them is a mountain, much like his name. Another is a deep, dark cave filled with ominous sounds and vampire bats. He imagines himself wandering into said cave and instantly being swarmed by those bats as they sink their teeth into his skin and suck him dry, leaving nothing but a pile of bones and desiccated skin.

Why do so many of his imaginary scenarios involve him being eaten? Maybe that’s how he’s feeling in life. Life is eating him bone dry, savoring him like a five-course meal, the tenderest piece of meat, taking its precious time with him because his suffering is just _that_ delicious. Sure, his limbs are still attached to his body and his organs are still functioning but he’s just so _tired._ Life really is draining him like those vampire bats.

At some point in the night, Wooyoung’s shoulders are being shaken roughly, and his bleary eyes open to Yunho staring at him. “You alright there, bud?”

Wooyoung groans, neck stiff as he turns his head, realizing that San’s shoulder is no longer his pillow. “What happened?” When his vision returns, he sees the rest of the group still present, talking amongst themselves.

“You just went to sleep for a little bit,” Yunho tells him, chuckling. “San had to use the bathroom so he rested you up against the sofa. You always get so tired when you smoke, you know that, right?”

“I’m tired all the time, Yunho-yah,” Wooyoung slurs matter-of-factly, shrugging Yunho’s hands off his shoulders as he struggles to stand up. He’s wobbly, definitely, but not to the point where he can’t walk. “If you want me gone, I’ll go to bed.”

“I didn’t say that,” Yunho says.

Wooyoung just shrugs again, offering a half-minded wave somewhere in the direction of the group and slinks off towards the hallway. Somewhere on the way, he collides with something, and his first thought is that it’s the wall because he’s walked into walls while heavily intoxicated before, but then whatever he bumps into is grabbing onto his shoulders to steady him. “Whoa there, Wooyoung, you alright?”

Oh, it’s San. The guy with the treasure map for a neck. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Just gonna… go to bed.”

The hallway is significantly darker than the living room, so Wooyoung can’t exactly see San’s face, but he’s being guided in what he thinks is the direction of his bedroom. There’s an arm linked with his as he drags his feet along the floor. “Here, Wooyoung. Lie down.”

With San’s help, Wooyoung gets himself situated in bed, head against a pillow as it should with his feet pointing towards the end of the bed. His back is flat against the mattress, eyes barely cracked open. The patterns on his textured ceilings seem to all morph into one. He can’t pick out anything.

The bed is dipped slightly to his right with San’s weight. He blinks lazily, breathing as deeply as he possibly can with predamaged lungs. His head and ears are throbbing to the beat of his heart. When he thinks about it (or tries to, at least), he can’t remember drinking and smoking _that_ much. He’s gotten blackout drunk before, but he’s rarely been in this sort of semi-catatonic state… maybe. He’s pretty sure he has been like this before… maybe. He can’t remember exactly.

“Do you want some water?” San asks.

Wooyoung nods mindlessly. His throat could probably use nourishment at the moment since it feels like the Sahara Desert at high noon in the middle of summer. He doesn’t know how he hadn’t taken note of that.

San tips the glass into his mouth, his other hand acting as a tray under Wooyoung’s mouth as he gulps the water down like he hasn’t seen an oasis in years. As soon as the liquid settles into his stomach, it’s almost as if it bubbles up in frustration and guilt because fucking shit, Choi San just had to wait on his stupid crossfaded ass.

“I’m sorry,” Wooyoung mumbles.

“For what?” San asks as he sets the glass on the bedside table.

“For making you wait on me.”

“Wooyoung, I _asked_ you if you wanted water. Besides, you can barely walk, so I figured it would be best if I got it myself.”

“Why didn’t you ask Yunho to? He’s the one who puts up with my shit all the time. You shouldn’t have to.”

“Well, what if I _wanted_ to?”

And there it is again, with the ‘what if I want to?’ Just like their first time. Why does San _want_ to cater to him? Why would San, whose neck is home to a gleaming treasure, waste his time on him? The hourglass is wearing thin, Wooyoung thinks. It’ll break soon enough. It hasn’t been long at all, but Wooyoung is a blazing flame hot enough to melt glass. Sand will spill out from both ends. Time will run out.

What even _is_ San? Why is he really here, sitting next to him while he’s deliriously staring up at his ceiling, when he could be outside with the rest of the sane people?

“Wooyoung-ah,” San says, “I know you said out there that the answer to ‘are you okay’ will always be no, but may I ask why?”

There are plenty of reasons why, Wooyoung wants to say. But instead, he answers with this:

“I don’t think ‘okay’ is a correct word to describe the way someone feels. It’s happy, sad, angry, et cetera, adjectives that are actual _emotions_ , not just some word that holds very little meaning when you think about it. People say they’re ‘okay’ all the time, but it’s just an answer people say to avoid the real problem, being that they’re probably not feeling all that great, and ‘okay’ is just a placeholder because they don’t want to bother people with their irrelevant bullshit. I don’t think anybody is ever ‘okay,’ San. Same thing with ‘fine.’ Nobody’s okay, nobody’s fine. We’re all just… something.”

Except Wooyoung doesn’t feel like he’s something.

“I wish I could be something.”

His hands are folded over his abdomen when he feels another one on top of them. “Well, then, what do you want to be?” San asks him.

Wooyoung’s jaw clenches as he inhales all the words he knows he would say. His body feels like it’s floating in the middle of a kiddie pool that’s a thousand meters deep and two meters in diameter. One shooting star barreling down in his direction and he’s done for. He’s so light yet so heavy at the same time, both the drugs and the emptiness weighing him down and lifting him up. Like being in a hot air balloon that’s anchored to the ground.

It’s so pointless. Everything is so pointless.

“Happy.” With a single blink and a ragged exhale, he adds, “I think.”

San’s fingers tighten around his own. Just fucking break the hourglass already, Wooyoung thinks. Don’t bother flipping it around. Don’t give him chances that he doesn’t deserve.

But at the same time, slow the sand’s tide. Make the good moments last.

“Hey, San,” Wooyoung croaks, throat swelling up again despite having replenished it moments ago, “can you kiss me?”

“Why?” San asks, though he’s already shuffling forward.

“I liked it when we kissed last,” Wooyoung says. “And I want to remember it again.”

He wants to fucking remember.

Unable to gauge San’s exact reaction, he simply lies back as San crawls over him to his other side, resting his head against the next pillow over and turning Wooyoung’s face towards him. “I’ll kiss you, but that’s it, okay? Nothing else.”

“Nothing else,” Wooyoung concedes. His body is too sluggish to enjoy sex anyways.

San’s hands are soft against his jaw when he leans in, catching his lips in a kiss so tender that it ironically steals Wooyoung’s breath from him. This is much different from how Wooyoung remembers it, but he supposes that’s no surprise, since the last time they’d kissed was at that chaotic party. Wooyoung completely forgets about the fact that he’s kissing an ex-fling who might not be an _ex_ -fling, because he’s still here, still present in Wooyoung’s life, and the odd thing is, Wooyoung doesn’t think he entirely minds it.

They kiss unhurriedly because the night is still young. Or, it might be. Wooyoung doesn’t know what time it is, nor does he care. He doesn’t care at all. He’d kiss San until his body dries up in the desert and disintegrates under the sun. He’d give himself up to San over and over if that means he could be buried living up to his self deprecating moniker. It would be pretty cool if his body were buried in the sands of the desert. It’s not every day people are buried with tombstones that read ‘Slutty Dickhead’ in the middle of the Sahara Desert.

Wooyoung’s hand rests upon San’s waist, mouth lazily moving with San’s, and his head is everything San and deserts and his dead fucking body, but in this instance, while San’s tongue is running along his bottom lip requesting entrance, Wooyoung doesn’t feel particularly dead. No, San doesn’t make him feel dead. He doesn’t exactly feel _alive_ , but it’s something.

San kisses him with both passion and decency, like his lips would rupture if he moved too suddenly. Even as his tongue makes its way into his mouth, it’s nowhere near where it was the last time. His tongue explores his mouth cautiously, almost warily, and his hand moves from his jaw to the back of his head, fingers sliding into Wooyoung’s hair. Wooyoung could get addicted to the way San breathes. It’s so smooth, like a calm water’s surface, and it’s nothing like his. Too many instances of smoking and fucking up have rendered Wooyoung’s lungs just adequately functional, but he thinks it’s okay. Everybody dies someday.

With his eyes closed, he breathes in the sand, but he breathes it in welcomingly, because even though every day in this sweltering desert is killing him, at least he can have a few good times before he digs his own grave.

✲

With midterms out of the way and the workload returning to normal, Wooyoung resumes work at the sex shop and acquires more hilarious stories to tell to his new group of friends. He tells Yeosang about this really shy-looking guy who came in one day and scanned the shelves home to the butt stuff with trembling fingers and eyes so panicked Wooyoung could sense the newly discovered homosexuality from a mile away. When Wooyoung had asked if he could help the guy find anything, the guy bolted out of the store with some sort of animalistic cry. Wooyoung had turned to his coworker Jiyoung, who’d shrugged with an equal amount of amusement.

(Yunho liked to call them the ‘Deadly Bisexual Duo.’ He’s said that if it weren’t for Jiyoung’s preference for women, perhaps Wooyoung would have a more of a chance, but Wooyoung had returned with the fact that he sees Jiyoung as more of a sister than a potential hookup. Her level of chaoticness rivals his, and he feels a bit intimidated around her sometimes, if he’s being honest.)

One day, Yeosang surprises Wooyoung with his exuberant entrance accompanied by his _straight_ roommate. This time, Jongho’s dressed in school pride colors with their mascot printed across the front of the hoodie. It’s no surprise he’s an athlete, the dude’s buff as hell.

“What a surprise to see you here,” Wooyoung says as the two approach the counter.

“I’m surprised I’ve never been here, honestly. How did I not know about this place?” Yeosang glances around, eyes in wonder like a kid in a candy store.

Wooyoung shrugs, stepping out from behind the counter. “Well, can I help you two find anything?”

“Well, I _was_ just going to stop in and say hi, but now that I’m here, I might as well pick up a few goodies,” Yeosang hums, immediately wandering towards the butt stuff section, and Wooyoung and Jongho follow. “What do you recommend, Wooyoungie?”

“Do you already have some toys of your own?” Wooyoung asks.

“I have a pretty standard plug and a decent-sized dildo, but that’s about it. Do you sell, like, outfits here? Maybe I could get something to seduce someone at the next party we go to.”

“Yeosang, you could seduce somebody _without_ sexy accessories or outfits.”

Yeosang just responds with a fake laugh and, “Thank you, honey, but you’re still not getting any.”

“Darn. Well, in that case, if you’re not gonna take my dick, what can I help you find as a replacement?”

Yeosang ends up getting two vibrators, one for his ass and one to tie around his dick because he’s seen it in porn and wants to try it. All the while, Jongho stands by his side nonchalantly, seemingly completely comfortable even surrounded by sex toys and Yeosang openly talking about how much fun he’s going to have when they get home.

“You’re surprisingly comfortable with this, Jongho-yah,” Wooyoung blurts as he’s ringing Yeosang out.

Jongho shrugs. “I’ve been his friend for years. This shit doesn’t faze me. Besides, me being straight doesn’t mean I’m going to be disgusted by butt stuff. I know plenty of guys who wouldn’t let _anything_ near their assholes, and I just laugh to myself because how repulsed does one have to be by butt stuff to not want to interact with people who like it? It’s an unfair, heteronormative system we live in, hyung. It’s like, if a guy likes stuff up his butt, that automatically makes him gay? Nah, that shit’s fucked. It’s my duty as a heterosexual to dispose of such a mindset.”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow in Yeosang’s direction, who’s smiling proudly as he gives Jongho a solid pat on the shoulder. “And this is why Jongho is the only straight I will let be in the same vicinity as me.”

“I stand corrected, then, but Mingi’s straight too,” Wooyoung says, handing over Yeosang’s bag of goodies. Pleasantly surprised, he waves goodbye to Yeosang and his now-cool-in-Wooyoung’s-book roommate.

“Your friends seem chill,” Jiyoung comments out of nowhere, a cherry lollipop stuck between her lips.

“Excuse me, I am a chill person. It only stands to reason that I would make chill friends as well,” Wooyoung says.

“You’re chill in many ways, I’ll give you that, but I bet my future pair of fake tits that they’re mentally sane.”

Wooyoung’s facial expression flattens, feigning offense as he sits down on the single stool behind the counter. He has to wonder, are they mentally sane? Is anybody truly mentally sane?

Well, one thing’s probably for sure. They probably don’t imagine themselves being ripped apart by sharks and drowning beneath sand in the Sahara Desert.

✲

The next time Wooyoung runs into San is at the café one hour before closing. He honestly feels kind of bad for the employees because he understands that they don’t want customers staying until close so they can get their chores done, but Wooyoung works at his most diligent when he’s under the dark night sky being pressured by the sometimes present moon, not cramped up in his tiny workspace back at the apartment. The café is the perfect place for him to get in the zone, even if he only has an hour before he has to return to his dreaded apartment.

However, San is the perfect distraction, and now that they’re ‘friends,’ San is unashamed to call him over to his booth where he’s joined by the same person Wooyoung has seen him with once before.

“This is Kim Hongjoong. He’s a late night radio host and a singer-songwriter,” San tells him, and Hongjoong gives him the tiniest of smiles and a timid wave. His small fingers barely poke out of his sweater paws. It’s cute, Wooyoung thinks.

“Are you a student here?” Wooyoung asks.

Hongjoong shakes his head, his platinum hair so dead that it doesn’t move in the slightest with his head’s movement. “I’m a host for the university’s radio though. No student wants to be up from eleven at night to five in the morning to play indie songs that nobody really tunes into anyway. It’s so dead that it gives me time to work on my own music, and sometimes I’ll even give self-promote my music on the station. There’s the rare request here and there, but for the most part, it’s just a job that works with my nocturnal lifestyle and fucked up circadian rhythm.”

“I’m one of the rare requesters,” San says with a beaming smile (like always). “I love the music he plays, and I’m up late at night sometimes because I have a hard time sleeping more often than not. And lo and behold, when I heard one of his songs, I knew I had to meet him.”

“Sannie’s been an amazing supporter and friend to me since he’s transferred here,” Hongjoong says. “Besides my roommate, I don’t really talk to anybody. It was nice knowing that I had an avid listener and fan, though I consider him to be much more than a fan.”

The two go back and forth in a compliment battle, mostly consisting of each other’s accomplishments rather than their own. They talk so fondly of each other, like a couple bragging to a stranger about how much they love their significant other. Through the rambling, Wooyoung learns that Hongjoong’s favorite genre is alternative pop, he’s releasing an EP soon (“Eventually,” Hongjoong corrects San), and San is going to be the photographer for the cover.

Wooyoung learns about them instead of getting his assignments done, but it’s fine. There’s tomorrow, and he’s really good at bullshitting his way through homework and essays like it’s nothing. Their lives are a lot more interesting than his own, anyway. Just hearing about them makes him wish he had more excitement and talent. He can’t play any instruments, doesn’t know shit about music production, doesn’t know how to work a camera that isn’t built into a phone, and doesn’t know about angles and how light correlates with how good a photo comes out. He knows how to draw stick figures and little doodles into the ceiling of his bedroom. That’s about it, and it’s practically useless, just like him.

Maybe he can live vicariously through them or something.

That night, he tunes into Hongjoong’s show as soon as it starts at eleven instead of doing his assignments. He lies in bed, tucked comfortably beneath his comforter and listens to soft beats and soothing arpeggios of guitars and pianos. He’s not used to this kind of music, not when the majority of the music he hears is whatever they blast at parties and the top hits on the radio at work.

Usually, when explosive beats of EDM and R&B flood his eardrums, it’s the alcohol that eventually sends him to sleep. But now, with soft melodies and the low, raspy timbre of Hongjoong’s radio voice, Wooyoung finds himself in a sleep so tranquil, it’s terrifying.

✲

Wooyoung is in the library when Yeosang approaches him with a predicament.

“I want to seduce somebody,” he says breathlessly.

Wooyoung pauses the recording of Hongjoong’s previous show and raises an eyebrow at him. “Okay? Where is this coming from?”

“Okay, so, there’s this _really_ hot guy in my eco class. Well, technically, he’s the TA, but he’s still a student and just a year above me. I think he _might_ have a thing for me, like, I’ll catch him staring at me sometimes and then he instantly looks away. The only times we’ve talked were about assignments, but I swear he sounds different when he talks to me compared to other students. Like, he sounds almost nervous. I think I make him gay panic.”

“Do you know if he’s actually gay?”

“I don’t know! But—”

“Don’t be afraid to turn on the charm, Yeosangie,” Wooyoung says with a suggestive smirk. “You have plenty of it, but this is the most panicked I’ve heard you since we became friends. If anything, I think he’s making you panic more. If you want to find out if he has a thing for you or not, you have to _really_ make him gay panic. Ask him what his office hours are, but ask him _salaciously._ Ask him how he likes coffee in the morning. Ask him if he thinks asexual reproduction is more interesting than sexual reproduction, and if his face turns redder than a beet at full ripeness, then you have your answer.”

Yeosang stares at him completely dead-faced before he asks, “All in that order?”

“That’s up to you. Just do whatever feels right in the moment. You’re confident, Yeosangie, I know you are. So use that to your advantage.”

Yeosang nods firmly, taking several deep puffs of air in and out before letting out an, “Okay,” and darting off in the other direction.

Wooyoung frowns as he watches Yeosang’s form disappear behind a rounded corner, imagining him being a furry blue hedgehog tumbling down a hill in search of gold rings before plummeting down, down, down until his body is eventually impaled on a field of silver spikes. He’s out of lives, and there are the bright red words ‘GAME OVER’ in pixel font right above his mangled corpse.

Wooyoung glances around the library and wonders if there’s a ghost. He wonders if the ghost can read minds, and if it can, then may their soul be reaped so they don’t have to see the inner workings of his disordered brain.

✲

Wooyoung is in his bedroom when Yunho comes to him with a predicament.

“Wooyoung-ah, come on, let’s do it.”

Wooyoung simply turns his head to look at his roommate, freshly showered with a towel draped over his shoulders but nothing else. His cock is half hard for fuck’s sake. “Do what?”

“Y’know, _it._ ”

“You sound like a fucking middle schooler, asking for it like that,” Wooyoung says with a chuckle, standing up. He gets to stretch his shoulders and neck for a solid three seconds before Yunho is tackling him to the bed and crashing his lips to his.

“Fucking—Yunho, what the hell’s gotten into you?” Wooyoung gasps once he gets the opportunity to pull away, but then Yunho’s face is instantly buried in Wooyoung’s neck, nipping at his skin. “F-fuck, hold on a second—”

They haven’t done anything remotely sexual together in a hot minute, so Yunho’s rash actions are definitely taking him by surprise, but from how many times they’ve done it in the past, Yunho knows all of Wooyoung’s weak spots. Yunho knows how to rip every single moan out of him, and one night, he’d pounded him into oblivion, to the point where he couldn’t form coherent words. Yunho made him come three times that night.

One of those weak spots is his neck, where he preferably likes to be bitten, so Yunho’s teeth on the skin of his neck makes all his questions fly out the window. For some reason, Yunho’s being particularly rough tonight, a _Thursday_ night, when Wooyoung has class the next morning, and his roommate seems to have completely disregarded that fact as he’s occupying himself sucking bruises into Wooyoung’s neck and collarbone.

Wooyoung doesn’t mind all _that_ much because he fucking loves hickeys. He also doesn’t really give a shit if people see marks on him. The only thing that’s bothering him is the question of why Yunho is doing this all of a sudden.

And—get this—once all clothes have been discarded and the cocks are out and everything, Yunho dips down between Wooyoung’s legs and eats him out, something he _rarely_ does because he usually doesn’t have the patience for it. Wooyoung finds it ironic, since Yunho’s moving so quickly he’s afraid he’s high on something besides weed, but he really isn’t complaining. Not when Yunho’s tongue moves in hot, quick flicks against his hole, getting him nice and wet for what’s to come.

Oddly enough, Yunho takes his time prepping Wooyoung with his humungous fingers, but it becomes clear why once his dick’s inside.

Yunho has a big dick. It’s an irrefutable fact of life. So needless to say, when Yunho starts drilling into him from above, Wooyoung swears he can feel it in his soul. Like he’s ascended to a seventh dimension, his brain melting to mush. He doesn’t even _try_ to contain his moans because he _can’t._ There are tears in his eyes because Yunho is so fucking _deep_. It hurts, but in all the best ways.

It’s only happened once before, but they’re at it for a good two hours and Wooyoung comes three times again, while Yunho comes twice.

So now, caked in sweat and dried semen, the two lie on the mattress with their backs flat against it, doing their damn best to catch their breath. Wooyoung’s throat feels like it’s been strangled from how much he’d been moaning. And poor Yunho; the guy had just gotten out of the shower before he decided to fuck Wooyoung’s brains out, and now he has to take another one.

“Yunho,” Wooyoung squeaks, “what was that?”

Yunho takes two hasty breaths before answering, “I think I’m gay.”

“O…kay? I thought we’ve long established that.”

“No, I mean, _gay_ gay. Like _homosexual_ gay. So gay that I myself belong on the rainbow spectrum. I might as well be added as a new fucking color. Because I am _gay_.”

Wooyoung stares at the ceiling in complete silence for a measured ten seconds before his lungs decide to breath laughter instead of air. He laughs so hard he feels it in his ass. “Okay, Yunho-yah. So you’re gay. Is that why you fucked my brains out?”

“I considered it more as a celebration.” Yunho is still panting, hair soaked with either water or sweat. Maybe both. “I, uh, I’m sorry for that. Should’ve told you right off the bat instead of instantly going for your neck to shut you up.”

Wooyoung snorts another laugh. “Trust me, Yunho, I don’t care in the slightest… though I’m definitely gonna feel this tomorrow. Jesus Christ.”

“Y-yeah.” Yunho scratches his head awkwardly. “So… um, yeah. Sorry. I’m gonna, err, shower.”

“I might as well fucking join you,” Wooyoung says, already pulling himself up, though his backside vehemently disagrees with his decision. Still, he powers through it, just like he powers through everything else, and joins Yunho in the shower.

He’d caught a glimpse of his neck and chest in the mirror on the way, and he just prays that he has a turtleneck lying around the apartment somewhere.

✲

“That’s a cute sweater,” San says as he slides into Wooyoung’s booth. “Never seen you wear it before.”

“I, uh—”

“Let me guess, you have a minefield of hickeys under that turtleneck.”

Wooyoung’s shoulders instantly sag as San’s face lights up. “Aha, see! Predictable! So, who was it?” San asks.

“Yunho.”

“Yunho?” San sounds surprised. “You and Yunho? Really?”

“Yeah, we’ve had a friends with benefits thing going on since I transferred here. Did I seriously not tell you that?”

San makes a face of indifference, shrugging. “I mean, I don’t think so, but it doesn’t surprise me all that much. Are you and Yeosang—”

“No,” Wooyoung interjects with an amused grin. “Yunho told him all about me before I met him, what with me being one of the most promiscuous humans on this university campus, and I guess that’s deterring Yeosang from wanting me in that way. I don’t really care, though. Friends or friends with benefits, I’m cool with whatever.”

“I see. Well, what are you doing later? It’s Friday night. Any parties?”

Wooyoung shakes his head. He’d considered tagging along with Yunho and Mingi to a party somewhere off campus, but his entire backside and his inner thighs have been on fire all day. He’s not really in a condition to party, much less walk. “I’m a bit wrecked after last night. Think I’ll just stay in.”

“I can keep you company, if you want. I’m not doing anything either.” San’s eyes widen suddenly. “N-not that I’m trying to invite myself over! I don’t want to be rude. I just thought, y’know, if you want some company—”

“It’s fine, Sannie,” Wooyoung chuckles. “Sure, you can come over. Just don’t really expect me to move or do much of anything.”

San raises an eyebrow. “Yunho seriously did a number on you, huh?”

“You don’t even know.”

And sure enough, San comments on the way Wooyoung hobbles out of the café like a newborn calf. He says it’s adorable, but suggests that Yunho take it easier on him next time for the sake of his dignity.

“Trust me, San, my dignity is down the drain.”

“Which drain? I’ll fish it out for you.”

Wooyoung just snorts and punches him on the shoulder playfully.

✲

A whiff of savory takeout accompanies the sound of the door opening, and Wooyoung jolts out of bed much to his back’s protests. He stumbles out of the room, ass clenched, as San greets him with one of his signature smiles and a bag full of food. “Figured I’d pick some stuff up along the way,” San says as he unpacks. It’s from a place that Wooyoung and Yunho have ordered from many times before, and somehow, San managed to pick up one of Wooyoung’s favorite dishes.

Over takeout chicken and noodles, the two talk about Hongjoong’s radio show, and Wooyoung tells San that he’s never listened to music quite like the stuff Hongjoong plays. San’s eyes widen while his cheeks are stuffed with dangling noodles, which is quite fucking adorable. “How?” San asks. “How do you live?”

“I barely listen to music to begin with, honestly,” Wooyoung admits.

San frowns at him, slurping up the rest of his noodles. “Alright, do you have a speaker or something?”

While San waits with his arms crossed, Wooyoung retrieves Yunho’s Bluetooth speaker because he doesn’t have one of his own. San snatches it from his grasp and turns it on. “We’re going to listen to some classic alt pop. Hongjoong’s favorite as well as my favorite genre.” San scrolls through his phone, muttering to himself, “Can’t believe this kid doesn’t listen to music.”

“Hey, I’m sorry that I’m too busy contemplating the insignificance of my existence most of the time,” Wooyoung argues.

San selects a song that starts off with a catchy drum riff that already has Wooyoung’s head bopping, followed by the beginning lyrics that are in English.

“San, I can’t really understand this,” Wooyoung says.

“So? Listen to the melody instead. Listen to the instruments. Enjoy it.”

As acoustic drums and harmonious vocals fill the room, San and Wooyoung finish up the rest of their takeout. It’s as if San completely tunes out everything except the music, his head swaying to each beat, eyes blissfully closed at some points during it, even singing along to the lyrics he knows. Wooyoung can pick out words here and there, but for the most part, can’t make sense of what the song is about.

“That’s a pretty mainstream alt rock-slash-pop song,” San says. “What did you think of it?”

“It’s pretty, even though I couldn’t understand it,” Wooyoung says. “It’s a lot different than the music I usually hear, but I liked it. I feel like I’d enjoy it while I’m high.”

San chuckles. “A lot of alt or indie music can be enjoyed while high. They’re like, genres made for stoners. But, y’know, everybody has their own tastes, so I speak for only a fraction of the worldwide population.”

“So this is the kind of music Hongjoong makes?”

“Yup,” San answers. “He relies a little more on synths and pre-recorded loops since he doesn’t really know any other musicians, but he knows piano. I hope he can put together a little band someday. That’d be cool.”

Wooyoung thinks it would be cool to be in a band. He’s never had a particular interest in doing music, but it looks fun, being up on stage and showcasing an _actual_ talent. Wooyoung wishes he had an actual talent. Maybe that would give him some purpose.

Wooyoung takes San and the Bluetooth speaker back to his room where he immediately resumes his position from before, back flat against the mattress and eyes pointed straight up at the ceiling. San lays down next to him in a similar fashion, the speaker placed on the nightstand beside him. Another alt pop song plays softly as the sun finishes its shift for the day. Wooyoung doesn’t even bother turning on a light, but San does.

“You should hang up fairy lights or something,” San says, switching on the bedside table lamp by his side. “My room has some. I think your stoner ass would love it. They change color.”

Wooyoung’s mouth drops open, finally turning to face San, who’s already smiling his way. “They change color? Holy shit, I _would_ love that while I’m high.”

“It’s enjoyable _not_ high too,” San jokes.

Wooyoung imagines that color-changing lights would make the swirls in his ceiling come to life. He could trace out the doodles with his fingers while the lights dance along the surface. Waves of colors would undulate around him, alternative pop flowing through his eardrums, and maybe, he would feel at peace. He can imagine it now.

“Can I come over to your place one day?” Wooyoung asks.

“To see the lights?”

“Yes. The sole reason I want to visit your place is to watch the pretty fairy lights change colors.”

San rolls his eyes with a full-toothed smile. “Hey, you’re pretty unpredictable.”

“Says the one who called me predictable because I was wearing a turtleneck to hide my hickeys.”

“Okay, I have never seen you wear a turtleneck before, you’re licentious, and you were constantly shifting on your ass like you’d just had it wrecked the night before. It wasn’t that hard to tell.” San scoffs, but that stupid smile is still plastered on his face as he shuffles forward ever so slightly, face-to-face with Wooyoung. “So, can I see them?”

Wooyoung glances down. “My hickeys?”

“Yeah, let’s see the damage.”

And, well, okay. San has seen Wooyoung shirtless before. _Naked_ , actually. So he pulls the turtleneck over his head and reveals the damage, a neck and collarbone littered with a rainbow of hickeys, ranging from dark purples to vibrant reds and pinks. San lets out an audible gasp. “Shit, dude,” he says. “Do they hurt?”

“A little, yeah, but then again, so does the rest of me.”

“I can give you a massage, if you want,” San offers. “Mingi has back problems, so I taught myself how to give massages to help him out.”

Wooyoung just gawks at him. His tone held no distinct suggestiveness that he could pick up on, like he was offering just a casual, platonic massage with no ulterior intention. San’s already propping himself up on his elbows, waiting on Wooyoung’s answer.

“Um… sure.” Wooyoung’s never had a massage before. This should be interesting.

“Alright, pants off, then,” San says, and Wooyoung obliges with little hesitation as he shuffles downwards on his knees.

“Underwear too, or…?”

“Up to you. Doesn’t matter to me, since I’ve already seen and been inside your bare ass before. You have lotion or scented oil?”

“Do I look like an aromatherapist?” San frowns at the remark. “No, sorry. I have lube, but that’s it.”

“Save that for other fun activities,” San says.

Wooyoung chuckles and decides to remove his underwear too, because even though his entire body is sore and his brain still feels fucked out, it’s _San._ San’s hands are going to be on him in even more sensual ways. If he can get San hot and bothered by teasing a little bit, he feels like he could be sated for the next week or two, which is a rare occurrence.

San starts at his lower back by request, and the first press into his skin instantly elicits an unintentionally pornographic moan. “Fuck, sorry,” Wooyoung grunts, followed by another moan because San doesn’t stop for a second.

“It’s okay, Mingi lets out a lot of those. It definitely boosts my ego, knowing that I don’t have to touch someone’s dick to make them feel good.”

“Had enough of that last night, _clearly_.” The last word is dragged out of him because San’s magical hands knead into all the right spots in his lower back, unwinding all the knots, even cracking some bones, maybe. Wooyoung doesn’t entirely know what San’s doing down there, but whatever it is, it feels fucking good.

“Out of pure curiosity, just why was Yunho so rough with you last night?”

“He had a gay awakening. A full homosexual epiphany. So he decided to celebrate by turning my brain into a hot steaming pile of fucked-out mush.” Wooyoung groans in a way that sounds either pained or pleasured as San cracks something in his back again. “It was good though. I came three times.”

“Jesus,” San says, hands traveling further down to his thighs. “This okay?”

Wooyoung hums in response. San’s fingers dig into the meat of his inner thighs, circling the skin and stretching it out. “Fuck, _right there_ ,” he groans when San reaches a spot dangerously close to his dick. “Swear to god, San, you could do this for a living or something.”

“Tempting,” San says.

It’s as if he’s _deliberately_ avoiding Wooyoung’s erogenous zones, not even massaging his actual ass (which he knows is _above average_ , ahem), and it’s driving him insane. Wooyoung had taken his underwear off with the intention of being a tease, but he should’ve figured that San, the one who’s literally touching him, would be a tease as well. That, or San is actually behaving like a professional masseuse or something and has incredible self-control. Either way, Wooyoung can’t help but chub up a bit because god damnit, he wants San to touch him like before.

Well, two can play at this game.

Wooyoung subtly ruts against the sheets, the friction offering him minimal relief, but he makes it a point to raise his ass a bit when he does. San says nothing, just continues on with his work, pressing into Wooyoung’s back, hips, and thighs, but not his ass or anywhere near his dick.

So Wooyoung resorts to letting out brazen breathy moans whenever San’s hands work into his skin, wiggling his hips whenever San gets close to his ass, and grinding down into the sheets in hopes that San will get the message.

San doesn’t say a fucking word. The music does all the talking for them in a language that Wooyoung doesn’t fully comprehend.

“Feeling alright?” San asks.

The fucking audacity.

Yes, Wooyoung is feeling quite alright. He’s in heaven, actually, because Choi San, really hot guy with a treasure map neck and warm eyes and a welcoming smile is giving him a massage, but he’s also not _touching_ him despite his blatant signals.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” Wooyoung answers, though it’s a bit strained because his cock is hard and he wants San to touch him already.

“Turn over, I’ll get your pelvic area and inner thighs,” San instructs.

Pelvic area and inner thighs? Just who does San think he is?

Wooyoung obeys, though, because _maybe_ San will see the predicament he’s in and actually help him out instead of teasing him endlessly. He flips himself over, his erection now quite out in the open up against his stomach, and San’s hands continue off on his hips, thumbs pressing into his skin and working their way in.

And then down. And down again. All the while, _still_ avoiding his cock.

The areas San is getting are definitely sore since he spent the previous night with his legs bent in all sorts of angles, so the massage is doing wonders, but _god_ , he’s pretty sure he’s leaking from how worked up San is making him. He doesn’t get embarrassed easily, but he can already feel his face heating up as he watches San’s eyes on his lower half.

He’s smirking.

Wooyoung loves teasing, but he’s also impatient. He’s brash and blunt most of the time, and in this particular moment, his patience is wearing thin. It takes San’s thumbs dipping between his thighs, right below his balls, for him to snap.

“Fucking _hell_ , San,” Wooyoung practically growls.

That’s when San stops and looks up at him, mischief hidden behind those warm eyes, still smirking. “Can I help you?”

“ _Yes_ , you can fucking help me, god damn it.”

San just laughs and reaches over to the nightstand on his side, opening the drawer where Wooyoung quite predictably keeps his sex stuff, and pulls out his beloved lube. “I would prefer if you ask nicely, though.”

“ _Please_ , San,” Wooyoung pleads, noticing the way San’s mouth curves up even more as the older uncaps the lube. “Can you please touch me?” He glances down and notices that San’s sporting a similar problem in his jeans, and that’s when he gets the idea. “You can… you can too, i-if you want.”

San makes a noise of amusement. “Of course, I want to. How could I not want to after you kept wiggling your ass around like that?”

Aha, so he _was_ getting San hot and bothered.

With his brain completely alert as opposed to their last time together, Wooyoung takes note of the things his brain was too slow to catch onto, one of those things being how godlike San’s body is. With defined shoulders, chiseled abs, and a waist that’s unfairly thin, his body’s shaped like a fucking upside down Dorito or some shit. And his cock? Wooyoung’s had it in him before, but he hadn’t actually _seen_ it this close. It’s slightly bigger than his, tinged red from being crammed in his underwear, now finally receiving the relief it needed.

San squeezes a good amount of lube onto the palm of his hand once he rids himself of his clothes and leans forward, kissing Wooyoung again, with the fervor of the first time and the gentleness of the second. With their cocks pressed together, San wraps his hand around both of them, coating both of them with lube and stroking slowly. Wooyoung moans into San’s lips, dark colors beneath his eyelids pulsing as he bucks his hips up into San’s hand.

“Fuck, _San_ ,” Wooyoung gasps, one of his hands coming up to grasp the back of San’s neck.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Wooyoung-ah,” San moans just underneath his ear before nipping the lobe.

Beautiful, huh?

Something about the word makes something in Wooyoung stir as he lets out a shrill whine, hips desperately grinding up against San’s. The slide of their wet cocks together adds obscenely slick sounds to the gentle beats of the alternative pop, overwhelming Wooyoung’s senses in a completely different way, something that no amount of weed or parties could ever give him.

No, he’s caught up in San, his new favorite genre of music, and sheer, _sober_ pleasure.

And San? His moans are just as gorgeous as he is. Each one sends Wooyoung further down his spiral, brings him closer to climax, and unsurprisingly, he’s the first to come, spilling all over his stomach and San’s fist with just an elongated moan as a warning.

“So pretty when you come, Wooyoungie,” San says before coming himself, further painting Wooyoung’s abdomen and hand with come.

Beautiful. Pretty.

_“You’re gorgeous, Wooyoung, you know that?”_

Their chests rise and fall with the breaths they lost in pleasure as they stare at each other in post-orgasmic euphoria, and San, of course, is the first one to smile. He sits up and leans back, reaching over for the box of tissues (again, on his side) to wipe his hands and Wooyoung’s stomach.

“Thank you for that,” he says.

“For what?”

San just smiles at him.

“For _that_. You asked that last time.”

Wooyoung shrugs. “I didn’t do anything worth being thanked for.”

But unlike last time, San leans in and kisses him briefly. He remains undressed, doesn’t leave Wooyoung naked in a stranger’s bed tipsy and fucked out. Instead, he asks Wooyoung where the shower is and asks if it’s alright with him to take one together. Wooyoung says yes, because they’ve already seen each other naked twice and seeing each other naked under a stream of hot water isn’t really all that different.

It gives Wooyoung an uneasy feeling, especially when San kisses him beneath the water’s stream. He kisses him over and over, cradles the back of hid head and kisses down his neck, his fucking weak spot, and he has to grab onto San’s shoulders just so his knees don’t give out.

San is still here.

What the fuck?

✲

“What are you thinking about?” San asks.

The sun is long gone by now, and Yunho is probably having a grand ole time at whatever party he's at while Wooyoung lies in bed with his head resting on Choi San’s chest. It’s just as firm as it looks.

“My head’s kinda blank right now.”

Except it’s not. It never really is, Wooyoung thinks. One way or another, it’s filled with outrageous scenarios with little to zero chance of coming true. More recently, they’ve been about his body being eaten. Torn apart. Bloody and tattered. San’s heard the shark story already, and Wooyoung considers that one to be quite outdated.

“Let me change the tense. What have you _been_ thinking about? Like, over the past few days.”

“Do you think an hourglass is half empty or half full?”

Without a pause, San answers, “Half empty.”

“I agree.”

“Hourglasses are technically one glass, since there’s only a narrow neck separating both chambers that hold the sand, and even then, the chambers aren’t filled completely with sand, usually,” San says. “So, an hourglass is more empty than it is full. Hell, it’s less than half empty if you ask me.”

“Isn’t it sad?” Wooyoung questions.

“Everything has an expiration date,” San says. He removes his hand from underneath him and loosely points it at the grooves on the ceiling. Wooyoung watches as he moves his fingers in random directions, reminding him of what he does when he’s by himself, accompanied by nothing but imaginary sharks and ghosts.

It’s strange, seeing another person do it. It’s like he’s on the outside looking in now.

“Hourglasses on their own have an expiration date, just like the time the sand inside them measures,” San continues. “So yeah, it’s sad that everything dies eventually.”

“I feel like I’ll break the hourglass one day.”

Wooyoung knows he makes no sense most of the time. Yunho can’t wrap his head around half the shit he says, so he keeps their conversations down to sex and parties with a sprinkle of self-deprecating humor and the occasional discussion of politics. Of course he doesn’t expect San to know what he means by “I feel like I’ll break the hourglass one day,” so he expects San to ask for elaboration.

But San, Choi San, his treasure map and wondrous eyes, says, “You won’t.”

Something in Wooyoung does a triple somersault.

“Yeah?”

Beneath the incandescent glow of the lamp, Wooyoung can see dimples.

“Have more faith in yourself, Wooyoung.”

Then, Wooyoung realizes what has flipped. He breathes in more sand.

He will see San again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, they listened to sweater weather
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)


	3. harbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Does… does the ship sink?” San asks in a small voice.
> 
> Wooyoung ponders the question for a few seconds before answering, “No. It doesn’t.”
> 
> “Why’s that?”
> 
> “There are too many important people on it,” Wooyoung says, imagining the reflection of the fireworks in San’s glimmering eyes.
> 
> “But what about you?”
> 
> Wooyoung closes his eyes. There’s nothing. No fireworks. No colors. Just blackness, like he’d see at the bottom of the ocean.
> 
> “I’m not important.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh this chapter gets a little dark and confusing.
> 
> tw for implied/referenced suicide, passive suicidal thoughts/remarks, and discussions of suicide. wooyoung's imagination also gets a little weirder and nonsensical. however you decide to interpret it is up to you :)

One of Wooyoung’s old friends owned a fish tank. It wasn’t nearly as well-kept as Yeosang’s, with an abundance of green algae and murk coating the glass enough to the point where the fish just looked like occasionally moving dots. Wooyoung never understood how those fish could live in an environment comprised of their own piss and shit. That’s why, gazing at Yeosang’s fish tank in all of its rainbow, homosexual glory, he feels proud, even _happy_ for his fish, knowing that he has a loving owner who actually takes care of him.

His fish is going to live a better life than he will.

Honestly, Wooyoung doesn’t know how much gayer Yeosang’s fish tank could be. It’s an abomination on the senses in the most colorful, ostentatious way, and Wooyoung _loves_ it. All rainbow artificial plants and neon gravel, staring at it for too long could probably cause temporary blindness, but Wooyoung is here for it. He doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the tank and its little inhabitants, but he’s starting to feel a little woozy.

“Um… Wooyoung-ah.”

“Mm.”

“You’ve been staring at my fish tank for, like, a half hour.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t you have shit to do?”

“Mm.”

Yeosang lets out a deep, melodramatic sigh, probably turning to Jongho, who probably gives him a shrug in response. “Wooyoung—”

“You’re a good fish owner, Yeosangie. My old friend had a fish tank and he probably suffocated those poor aquatic creatures by allowing them to live in an environment made of forty percent water and sixty percent feces.”

“That’s fantastic to know, Wooyoungie, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you need to leave because we both have class in about ten minutes and you are not staying here.”

When Wooyoung finally turns his eyes away from the fish tank, he nearly topples over from how much his vision has to adjust to the drastic desaturation of color. “Why, you don’t trust me here alone? I’m not going to harm your little fishies.”

“I don’t trust you for a second, whether we’re here or not,” Yeosang says, “and I’m mostly concerned about you snooping around the house and stealing my sex toys and Jongho’s weed.”

“If you steal my weed, I’ll make you go missing,” Jongho threatens (half) jokingly.

Wooyoung huffs out a sigh and straightens up, instantly feeling a stabbing pain at the base of his back from bending over for too long. Wordlessly, he grabs his jacket and backpack, meanders past Yeosang, stops at the front door, and says, “Thank you for having me, Your Highness.” He bows, jacket and backpack draped over either arm, one leg crossed behind the other and all.

“Get out,” Yeosang deadpans.

So Wooyoung does, but he makes sure to leave Yeosang with a single screech to remember him by before slamming the door behind him.

✲

As much as Wooyoung loves nighttime and prefers it over daytime, he can’t imagine doing what Hongjoong does. For the past few nights, he’s been listening to Hongjoong’s radio show to put him to sleep. Wooyoung both loves and hates sleep, depending. If his limbs feel like they’re being stabbed by trillions of pins and needles and his head feels like it’s caving in, then yes, he loves sleep. Otherwise, he loves to be awake because that’s when he can feel real life pleasure.

(Yunho has accused him of being a hedonist plenty of times, but Wooyoung usually ignores him. After all, as much as he may seek pleasure, that doesn’t mean he’ll always have it because the universe sucks like that.)

The next time Wooyoung finds San and Hongjoong hanging out at the café, he asks Hongjoong how many hours of sleep he gets.

“Um… on average, maybe four or five,” Hongjoong tells him. “I’ll usually go to sleep as soon as I get home from the station, sleep for a few hours, work on my music, and then go back to the station. Rinse and repeat.”

“How the hell do you do that?” Wooyoung asks.

Hongjoong shrugs. “I’ve always had the infallible inability to sleep.”

“Insomnia?”

“Possibly. Or I just think too much.”

Wooyoung scoffs. “Join the club. Ever thought about writing songs about shark therapists and dying in the desert?”

“I think I can work with the desert idea, but shark therapists?” Hongjoong smirks with a raised eyebrow. “Do you do acid, Wooyoung-ah?”

“Weed is about as bad as I’ve gotten. But who knows? Farther down the road, when I’m just ready to feed myself to the sharks in the Pacific Ocean, maybe I’ll pop a tab or two for the hell of it. Get the gears turning before I literally… trip off the cliff into the deep abyss.”

San is smiling just like he always does. Hongjoong turns to him with confused eyes but a genuine smile. “Your friend is weird.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” San tells him.

Wooyoung laughs. Sure, he could drone on and on about shark therapists and the Sahara Desert and hourglasses, but it’s getting old. He needs his brain to conjure up something fresh, something to knock everyone’s socks off. The most outrageous thing that would probably want to make all of his friends throw him into a ditch and leave him there for the birds to eat. His body would rot into an unidentifiable carcass that maggots will happily dig into because his suffering is _so delicious_ , and somewhere, his tombstone would still read ‘Slutty Dickhead.’

Nobody would attend his funeral because he was never important. He was exactly what his tombstone reads. A slutty dickhead who didn’t know where the line between confidence and cockiness exists. An annoying asshole who screamed at random points in time because screaming into nothing felt like some form of release. A reckless delinquent who probably should’ve gotten arrested at some point during his lifetime, but he was so unluckily lucky.

How fucking ironic.

“San,” Wooyoung says, “do you think I’m luckily unlucky or unluckily lucky?”

“I don’t think I’ve known you long enough to draw that conclusion,” San answers nonchalantly. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

“I’m holding you to it.”

“Of course, Wooyoungie.”

“What say you, Hongjoong? Do you think you’re luckily unlucky or unluckily lucky?”

Hongjoong purses his lips, his pointer finger tracing the outer rim of his mug. “Probably luckily unlucky. I mean, I’m working a job that’s decent, my lifestyle works around everything pretty well, so I’m lucky in that sense. It’s just… my music isn’t taking off as well as I’d like it to, so that’s where the unlucky part comes in.”

“They’re not the same thing,” Wooyoung says. “Luckily unlucky and unluckily lucky.”

“I know, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong says matter-of-factly. “I wouldn’t be giving you the time of day if I thought my pretentiousness didn’t compare to yours.”

San snorts as Hongjoong sips his coffee, _black_ , and leans back against the booth’s backrest with an all-knowing grin. Wooyoung suppresses the everyday urge to scream. Not because Hongjoong just called him out on his pretentiousness, but because his coffee is fucking _black._ “Don’t worry, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong says. “If at any point you feel like cutting me out of your life because I don’t understand you and your quirkiness, then by all means. But for now, I’m not going anywhere.”

And that asshole slides his number over to Wooyoung. “Congratulations, Jung Wooyoung. You’ve gained another friend to tell all of your wildest, most bizarre thoughts to.”

Wooyoung gawks at San, who’s practically rolling in his seat. “Are you serious? You told him about my bullshit?”

“You’re just so interesting, Wooyoungie,” San giggles. “Everyone should get to know you and your bullshit.”

Wooyoung crumples up the scrap of paper home to Hongjoong’s number and shoves it into his pocket. “According to San, you don’t care about a lot of things, so I’m sure you wouldn’t care all that much about having a new friend,” Hongjoong says.

“Just because I have your number doesn’t mean I’m going to use it.”

“Of course, that’s up to you. I’m not going to hold you at gunpoint and demand you text me. That would defeat the purpose of trying to make a new friend, no?” Hongjoong chuckles. “Besides, I’m pretty sure one of your friends is trying to get in my roommate’s pants.”

“What?” Wooyoung nearly screeches. “Which one?” But then he remembers the blue hedgehog and Yeosang’s disappearance behind the rounded corner and is hit with the realization. “Oh, shit. Yeosang?”

“That’s the one.” Hongjoong clicks his tongue. “My roommate keeps going on about how he’s so fucking gorgeous, like the gods painted him and his perfectly sculpted jawline and crafted his nose with the finest tools made of gold. And yes, he actually said those things.”

Wooyoung scoffs, imagining Yeosang being right next to him. He’d probably be flattered or flustered, but honestly, whoever Hongjoong’s roommate is is true. Yeosang _does_ look like he was sculpted by the gods while the harp resonated harmonious melodies in the background. His birthmark was actually one of the gods’ tears because they’d created something so marvelous. And then, they bestowed Kang Yeosang onto the Earth, where he’d grow to be the proud owner of what he hopes is the world’s gayest fish tank.

How proud the gods must be!

“His name is Seonghwa,” Hongjoong informs him. “He’s a teacher’s assistant in Yeosang’s eco class, and he’s an eco major himself. Maybe you’ve seen him around. He tends to the university’s gardens sometimes. Can you believe it? He waters plants for a living.”

As effortless as that sounds, Wooyoung imagines that there’s more to taking care of the university’s gardens than just that, such as spreading fertilizer across the landscape, digging until his nails are caked in soil, and having to do everything year round, summer through winter. Bugs too. God, Wooyoung hates bugs.

“What does he look like?” Wooyoung asks, mind traveling back to that one time he’d ended up next to a student watering the plants and gave him an impulsive compliment.

“Um, sharp jawline, sorta thick eyebrows. Full lips, black hair. Big eyes.” Hongjoong shrugs.

All of which seem to apply to the student Wooyoung had seen. He’s honestly surprised he remembers. “I think I might have seen him,” he says. “And yeah, Yeosang came up to me one day and asked how to seduce his hot-as-fuck T.A., now apparently named Seonghwa, ‘cause he didn’t know how to go about it. From what you’re telling me though, he hasn’t been successful since there hasn’t been any progress, at least on his end.”

“Mm, I wouldn’t say that,” Hongjoong says, amused. “Seonghwa’s just really awkward. Yeosang makes him panic. A lot. He always comes home and asks me, ‘do you think he was flirting with me?’, in which case I always answer yes. But now that I know Yeosang is actually _trying_ to seduce him, maybe I’ll pass that information along and they can cease their ridiculous, sexual tension-filled pining.”

“I wholeheartedly support that decision,” Wooyoung says, nodding.

And honestly, good for them, if they do end up finally breaking past that awkward ‘I don’t know if he’s flirting with me’ stage. Wooyoung’s surprised Yeosang is even in that stage in the first place, considering how confidently he presents himself. Well, at least it’s a mutual panic.

That night, Wooyoung tunes in to Hongjoong’s show as his phone is bombarded with panicked texts from Yeosang regarding Seonghwa and _HOW DID HE GET MY NUMBER???????_

Wooyoung chuckles to himself and mutes his notifications, falling asleep with a smile on his face and soft indie tunes in his ears.

✲

“What are you doing for winter break?” San asks Wooyoung, lips wrapped around a straw soaking in a blueberry smoothie.

Wooyoung shrugs. “Don’t know. Probably spend Christmas with my aunt and brother, but come back right after.”

“Not gonna celebrate the new year?”

“If by celebrate you mean get drunk alone, then yeah, probably.”

San pouts, his cheeks expanding with the straw still in his mouth. Unreasonably cute, Wooyoung thinks. “That’s no way to celebrate the new year.”

“Why would I celebrate an occasion that reminds me of the fact that I’m still alive?”

San full on frowns at that. The shape of his mouth reminds him of the archlike branches of fireworks, like the ones that go off as soon as the clock strikes midnight. How gruesome, he thinks, imagining San’s head exploding like a firework, blood splattering all over the café walls but leaving beautiful colors in its wake.

“Because you’re celebrating an occasion that reminds you of the fact that you’re still alive,” San answers solemnly, like it actually matters. “It’s something that’s _meant_ to be celebrated. The fact that you’re still alive.”

Wooyoung scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, alright.”

“Are you suicidal?”

“No,” Wooyoung says, because really, he isn’t. As much as he thinks about the insignificance of his existence and jumping off of cliffs into the Pacific Ocean, he would never actually _do_ that. No, he’s just letting the universe run its course. There’s no point in trying to control his life if it’s just going to keep slapping him in the face with obnoxious inconveniences. He’s not going to try to kill himself.

“You say a lot of concerning things. You realize that, right?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung admits, arms crossed and expression neutral. “But I never actually _mean_ them. Trust me, San, I’m not going to go and kill myself. You could just say I have an edgy, dark sense of humor. It helps me get by.”

San is still frowning, something that Wooyoung isn’t used to seeing. But perhaps that’s _normal_ , because of course people would be unnerved at someone making suicidal, or passively suicidal, remarks.

A shudder courses down Wooyoung’s spine.

_Hwanjin never said anything._

Well, maybe he _did_ , but Wooyoung never interacted with the guy. He was never around to hear whatever Hwanjin had to say.

“You alright?” San asks.

Wooyoung blinks, his ears ringing, just like they had that night. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He can feel San’s worried eyes on him when he realizes he hadn’t really seen Hwanjin’s face. He couldn’t stomach it at the time, not with his imagination. Wincing, he imagines the scene of San’s head exploding rewinding like a film, the blood and colors and particles collapsing back into place, and San’s head is whole again.

“You know you can talk to me about whatever, right?” San asks. “I might not have the best advice, but I think I’m a pretty good listener.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says as he feels tiny sparks flickering around his ears. “Okay.”

He glances up, feeling a gust of relief rush over his skin when he sees that San’s head is still attached to his body.

✲

That night, while Yunho and Wooyoung eat their sweet and spicy chicken takeout (courtesy of Yunho, of course), Wooyoung eyes the front door to their apartment. He stares at it for so long that it starts to swell, the size of it magnifying and shrinking in his vision. Visual illusions, not hallucinations, Wooyoung has to remind himself. It’s just because his eyeballs are being trained on one fixed point for a while. _Not_ hallucinations.

He shoves the last piece of chicken in his mouth and stands up to walk to the front door. He opens it, feeling it swing open, before pushing it closed. The hinges make for an easy slide, and the door clicks into place smoothly. For an apartment that’s several decades old, it’s holding up pretty well.

“Uh, Wooyoung?” Yunho speaks up, cheeks expanded with meat and rice. “What are you doing?”

“The door isn’t heavy,” Wooyoung says, twisting the knob and opening the door again. It’s not heavy. It swings easily. If he were to slam it, it probably wouldn’t be all that loud.

_But then again, does the heaviness of the door matter?_

“It isn’t.” Yunho chuckles, figuring it must be another one of Wooyoung’s antics.

Wooyoung pays no mind to Yunho’s sarcastic tone. Instead, he wonders, if nobody were around to hear the door slam, would it make a sound?

Sometimes he wishes he hadn’t been there.

“This door is pretty sturdy for an apartment this old,” Wooyoung says, kneeling down and running his fingertips along the door’s frame. He traces the gap between the door and the frame, feeling his finger dip into the line. It’s insulated enough. It keeps them warm.

“It’s not _that_ old, Wooyoung-ah.” At this point, Yunho’s gotten up as well, standing behind Wooyoung as he feels the door. “What, do you have some sort of door fetish now or something?”

Wooyoung closes his eyes.

As insulated as the door is, things can still fit through the gap if one were to close them in. It could be that way for _any_ door, even this one.

Sighing, Wooyoung stands up and ignores the gurgling in his stomach and the worms in his throat. He coughs and blinks and strides past his roommate, announcing, “I’m going to bed.”

The thing is, he goes to bed, but he doesn’t go to sleep. He lies down on his back, the evening sky casting a dark gray-blue into his room, barely illuminating the grooves on his ceiling. Squinting, he draws a vertical rectangle with his finger, a perfect door. It’s not even a pattern in the grooves.

It’s just a door.

_It’s just a door._

_“Why did you transfer?” Yunho asked._

_Wooyoung shrugged. “My roommate was an asshole.”_

_“That’s it?”_

_He shrugged again. “The place just wasn’t for me. Didn’t really like the environment. Not_ just _because of my roommate. I like it a lot more here.”_

Wooyoung _does_ like it a lot more here.

The doors at his old university’s dorms were a lot heavier.

✲

“So _this_ is what straight people do?” Wooyoung asks as he gawks at the testosterone-filled scene unfolding before his eyes.

Somehow, Choi Jongho has managed to rile up a crowd of students in the middle of the student union’s dining room as he effortlessly takes on worthy contenders in _arm wrestling._ If Wooyoung didn’t already know Jongho, he would call this a criminal offense or something, because according to Yeosang, sometimes there are actual _bets_ riding on these matches, like an underground boxing league or some shit.

But for now, all Wooyoung can do is stand on the sidelines and watch because Jongho has taken down fifteen people so far, and he, a scrawny bisexual who does a pushup maybe once in a full moon, is not about to interfere in the slightest. Meanwhile, Yeosang watches with an entertained smirk, arms crossed and hip jutting out like usual.

“He uses the money he wins to buy weed,” Yeosang leans in and whispers. “So be grateful.”

“Oh, I definitely am,” Wooyoung whispers back.

He has to admit, Jongho’s a good guy. Straight, but a good straight. He’s good at his crafts, that being arm wrestling and being a decent human, to Wooyoung’s knowledge.

Wooyoung glances around at the cheering crowd and wonders where the hell a faculty member is in all of this chaos. Not even the employees are batting an eyelash.

Wooyoung has been here for a whole semester and a half, and he’s never seen this happen. For nobody to even question it means that it must happen quite often. What the fuck?

Jongho defeats another five people, leaving him at twenty wins when he finally declares the occasion to be over. Someone, perhaps one of his teammates or something, raises Jongho’s fist triumphantly, and the crowd erupts into cheers. Yeosang is one of the loudest.

“That’s my roommate!” he screams with his hands cupping his mouth. “My fucking roommate!”

Within the next five minutes, the dining room has settled completely. Students return to their seats, the volume decreases, and Jongho leaves with his posse of teammates, probably to hit the gym to celebrate or whatever straight guys do. Wooyoung sips his cola as he sits across from Yeosang, whose nose is now buried in a textbook. “So are we just gonna ignore the fact that Jongho just scammed twenty students out of ten thousand won?”

Yeosang looks up and shrugs. “He’s been doing this for a while. Nobody gives a shit. Everyone should know that he’s unbeatable by now. They’re basically signing up to lose money. Not a _scam._ Like I said, be grateful, you ungrateful prick.”

Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at him, tempted to dump his cola out on Yeosang’s textbook, but he paid a ridiculous university price for it, and Yeosang probably paid a hundred times that for the textbook. So he refrains and opts for asking Yeosang about his love life.

“Have you two gone out on a date yet?”

“No, he works a lot, apparently,” Yeosang says with a sigh. “But seeing him in class is good enough, honestly. We actually talk about more than just life cycles and shit, so that’s exciting.”

“Thought you wanted to be a hoe,” Wooyoung says, wondering what happened to the list Yeosang had written out for him.

“Nothing wrong with hoeing around a little while waiting for my _true_ Prince Charming to sweep me off my feet,” Yeosang swoons with a toothy smile. His teeth are so fucking cute. “So while Seonghwa and I are in that not-quite-dating stage, which could be a while, _maybe_ I’ll find someone to hook up with. And _not_ you.”

Wooyoung chuckles. “Whatever, Yeosangie.”

“What about you and San?”

“What about me and San?” Wooyoung questions with an eyebrow raised.

“How are you two faring? You’ve been hanging out, right?”

“Yeah. Friends hang out, duh.”

“ _Friends_ ,” Yeosang drawls. He smirks like he knows something, and Wooyoung laughs internally because he really doesn’t know _shit._ “You two are just friends. Gotcha.”

“I know what you’re implying, Yeosang, and _no_ , I don’t like him in that way.”

Yeosang purses his lips and nods, leaning back in his chair as his intense eyes stare observant daggers into Wooyoung’s. “You two would make a cute couple, just saying.”

“And I don’t do relationships, so stop saying,” Wooyoung retorts defensively, maybe coming out as a bit insensitive as well.

“Hm. Well, that’s not surprising,” Yeosang says. “You _did_ say that the worst thing to catch is feelings.”

“And I stand by that,” Wooyoung says, slurping the rest of his cola until his cheeks are hollowed and the noise echoes around them, probably capturing the attention of nearby students. “I’ll just live vicariously through your guys’ love lives while mine remains nonexistent.”

“Aw, does little Wooyoungie not believe in love?”

Wooyoung slams his paper cup down on the table, startling Yeosang. His big eyes gape at Wooyoung in surprise as Wooyoung leans in and says, “No. I don’t.”

“Fuck, okay,” Yeosang says, hands raised in defense. “Didn’t mean to strike a nerve there.”

Wooyoung lets his tense shoulders relax and sighs deeply. “Look, I hope that whatever goes on with you and Seonghwa turns out well. But _don’t_ ask me about my love life, because it’s not there. It’s nonexistent. It disintegrated a long time ago. Its ashes are scattered in various parts of the world and I am too goddamn lazy to go and try to find them.”

Yeosang just stares at him, clearly at a loss for words. “Sorry,” Wooyoung says. “Just me being crazy again. Really, Yeosang, expect the unexpected from me, and then make the unexpected expected. Whatever I do… just don’t be surprised. It’ll make our friendship a lot easier.”

“Whatever you say, Wooyoung-ah.”

It’s almost as if he can hear Yunho’s voice mingling with Yeosang’s. _Whatever you say, Wooyoung._ If he had a thousand won for every time he’s heard Yunho say that to him, he’d be living in a penthouse surrounded by gold chains and sixteen of Yunho’s fancy schmancy BMWs and _then some._ He’d be away from university bullshit and living a lavish dream that’s so empty it might as well be nonexistent, just like his love life.

In a way, maybe Wooyoung is glad he didn’t grow up like his father. He can only imagine how much emptier his existence would be if he did.

✲

When Wooyoung finally gets around to seeing San’s room in all of its multicolored glory, he feels like he doesn’t even need to be high. San was right; his lights are enjoyable and entertaining completely sober. That, or they’re just very easily entertained. Probably both. But Wooyoung is admittedly having a good time, sharing a tub of rainbow-colored cotton candy as matching rainbow lights twinkle around them. They could be on San’s bed, but he quite likes the faux fur carpet he has. It’s an electric purple, so soft that Wooyoung could probably fall asleep on it without being intoxicated.

It’s Friday night, meaning they can both stay up and listen to Hongjoong’s show for as long as their eyelids can stay open. In this present moment, at midnight, Wooyoung’s feeling _great._ Not an ounce of alcohol or weed in his system. Just San, cotton candy, indie music, and color-alternating lights.

Who knew being entertained was this simple?

“I think Yunho’s turned Mingi into a monster,” San says. “Every time Yunho goes out to party, Mingi tags along.”

Wooyoung chuckles, crushing the thin strands of sugar between his fingers before sucking the stickiness off. “That’s me, usually. Seems as if Mingi’s taken my place.”

“When’s the last time you partied?”

Wooyoung blanks for a moment before realizing that the last time he partied was on _that_ night, but he isn’t about to let San know that.

“Uh… last week.”

San eyes him with a suspicious smirk, sucking the sugar off his thumb. “How was it? Find anyone to hook up with?”

Wooyoung rests his head up against San’s bed and frowns. “Nah. Wasn’t feeling it, I guess.” A complete lie. He’d been up last weekend drawing into his ceiling.

“That’s surprising.”

Wooyoung lets out an exasperated sigh and bites his lip. Right, he’s a promiscuous bisexual who fucks any human being he can get with. The one who has ‘Slutty Dickhead’ engraved into his epitaph. If anything happens that would tarnish such a reputation, it would be deemed as ‘surprising.’ Because how could people _not_ be surprised when a man whore doesn’t try to get with somebody?

 _Whatever you say. That’s surprising_. Wooyoung should seriously start collecting all of these common phrases and create an arsenal of them. Pack them all up in crates and store them away in a warehouse where he can access them at any time. Of course, the people who say such things won’t even be aware that they’re saying them because Wooyoung is so _predictable._ It rolls off of their tongues so easily. All the while, Wooyoung will continue to collect these words and add them to the reasons of why he’s just so goddamn predictable.

The only thing that’s unpredictable about him is his imagination. Even then, it’s so bizarre that people would just simply smile and nod, maybe laugh at him because everything that comes out of his mouth is just _insane._ His imagination is unpredictable, yes, but the strangeness of it isn’t.

After all, it’s always _whatever you say, Wooyoung._ Because they can’t be bothered to dissect Wooyoung’s imagination, but if he’s being honest, he can’t even do it himself. It’s just the way it is, he supposes.

“W-wait,” San says suddenly, “that sounded really rude. I mean, um, it’s _different_ , that, uh, you didn’t hook up with anybody. But… a good different, I guess. I don’t know.”

Wooyoung scoffs with a smile. “It’s a neutral different, I think.”

San clears his throat and nods, licking the rest of his fingers. A sweet silence hangs between them, over the empty tub of cotton candy. It makes Wooyoung wonder, if clouds were made of cotton candy, that means it would rain sugar. So, it would rain simple syrup, and everybody would be sticky. How inconvenient it would be to have _literal_ cotton candy clouds.

“So… has Yeosang made any progress with Seonghwa?”

“From what he’s telling me, not really,” Wooyoung says. “Apparently Seonghwa’s a real busy bee, keeping the plants all nice even though they’re going to die for the winter.” San chuckles at that. “But at least there’s interest there, you know? They just have to get past the awkward stage, and the next thing you know, they’ll be fucking like rabbits and Hongjoong and Jongho need to find new places to live.”

San’s face lights up just like the colors around them as he laughs. His skin alternates blue and red and pink, head thrown back in laughter. Like a firework, Wooyoung thinks, but not one that explodes. One that simmers, rather. With his head still intact and the colors still vibrant.

“Yeosang’s an attractive guy. I’m sure he’ll have Seonghwa wrapped around his little finger soon enough,” San says, and Wooyoung nods to agree.

Then, Yeosang will have Seonghwa by his side while they sit back in lounge chairs with their margaritas and watch as Wooyoung walks off the plank and plunges straight down into the ocean. Somewhere on the Cruise of Suffering, Yunho and Mingi are partying in the ballroom, Hongjoong is being the DJ, Jongho is drunk arm wrestling people, and San is…

Well, San is wherever San is. He’s at the front of the boat, actually, feet standing on the railing just like Jack in _Titanic_ , watching with stars in his eyes as fireworks burst in front of them, celebrating the death of Jung ‘Slutty Dickhead’ Wooyoung.

“So,” San says at one point during the night, when Hongjoong’s radio voice talks smooth words of nightly encouragement, “tell me what’s on your mind.”

“What, are you my therapist now?” Wooyoung snorts, though he’s smiling.

“Well, I’m no shark disguised as Yunho, but I’m a decent listener who enjoys hearing about your thoughts.”

That wipes the smile off Wooyoung’s face as he turns to stare at San questioningly. “You _enjoy_ hearing about my bullshit?”

“It’s interesting,” San says, shrugging and _smiling._ “You have a very weird but intriguing imagination. Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

Wooyoung sighs before collecting all of his thoughts in his brain and sending them down to his mouth.

“There’s a cruise. It’s a really big boat, like the Titanic, you know? But it has this opening in the railing, and there’s a plank there, like there’d be on a pirate ship. Yeosang and Seonghwa are being all couple-y, wearing sunglasses even though it’s nighttime, sipping cocktails from pineapples with those little umbrellas sticking out. They’re watching the gap in the railing, but I’ll get to that. Inside, there’s a party, where Yunho and Mingi are dancing their hearts out. Jongho is arm wrestling people while drunk, and Hongjoong is playing _party_ music instead of what he plays on his show because it’s a _party._ Neon lights, bass pumping, the lot. And I’m outside, standing on the plank.”

Wooyoung is too busy talking to see San’s smile disappear.

“As soon as I fall, fireworks go off. And you’re watching them.”

Whatever song Hongjoong is playing right now has Wooyoung’s head in the cotton candy clouds. He’s high without even being high. It’s nice.

“Does… does the ship sink?” San asks in a small voice.

Wooyoung ponders the question for a few seconds before answering, “No. It doesn’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“There are too many important people on it,” Wooyoung says, imagining the reflection of the fireworks in San’s glimmering eyes.

“But what about you?”

Wooyoung closes his eyes. There’s nothing. No fireworks. No colors. Just blackness, like he’d see at the bottom of the ocean.

“I’m not important.”

More silence, apart from the music. Wooyoung’s lungs hurt. He doesn’t know if it’s from the absence of weed or if it’s because he’s drowning on land.

_Is this what it felt like for him?_

“You know, I used to feel like that,” San says, breaking the silence. “I used to think I wasn’t important. I mean, occasionally I still do. But even though you won’t believe me, Wooyoung, you are important.”

Wooyoung scoffs, this time with contempt. “Well, you’re right in that I don’t believe you.”

“I know.”

“Then why say it?”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s pointless,” Wooyoung says nonchalantly.

San sighs, a small, comfortable smile on his face as he closes his eyes. “You know what I’m imagining? I’m imagining that cruise of yours landing safely at the harbor after you step down from the plank. There are fireworks going off in the background because everybody is celebrating that you lived. And I give you the biggest hug and kiss because I am incredibly proud that you stepped down from that plank.”

Wooyoung’s face hurts. He wonders if it’s the impact from the crash landing into the ocean. Or maybe, it’s because the water is freezing and the air is so hot that as soon as he takes the reviving breath, it stings. Whatever the case, he can imagine San being the one pumping the water out of his lungs.

“Tell me happy things, Wooyoung,” San says. “Do you ever think about happy things?”

Wooyoung tries. He really does. He digs in every nook and cranny, every crevice and groove in his brain to try to scavenge whatever happy scenarios he’s ever come up with. Specifically, ones that don’t involve his death in some way.

But he can’t.

“I don’t think I do,” Wooyoung says defeatedly.

He feels defeated.

“Should I be thinking about happy things?” he asks.

“It can be hard to think about happy things,” San tells him. “Especially when someone is really sad.”

“I don’t think I’m sad, though,” Wooyoung says. The words taste like salt even though there had been cotton candy on it not too long ago. It makes him wince.

 _Whatever you say, Wooyoung-ah._ Wooyoung can hear it now.

“Well, whether you’re sad or not, Wooyoung, people want you alive,” San says.

Wooyoung wonders if those are the words some people need to hear. If those are the words Hwanjin needed to hear.

He wonders if Hwanjin was sad. Certainly, one would have to be very sad in order to walk the plank out of their own free will. But Wooyoung isn’t sad. Why does he keep thinking about his dead body and his tombstone being engraved with the only legacy he’ll ever have?

“Who’s Hwanjin?”

The question snaps Wooyoung right out of his trance. San’s smile is gone as he stares at Wooyoung with attentive, curious eyes. In fact, he’s set in a deep frown, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

Did he just say that out loud?

“Hwanjin… was sad, I think,” Wooyoung says. “But I don’t know. I never spoke to him.”

“Who was he?”

_Was._

“He lived in the dorms at my old university. He was at the end of the hall, though, completely opposite me. I might’ve seen him once or twice in passing, but we never spoke. I can’t even remember his face all that much.”

Wooyoung sighs, eyes fluttering shut. He wonders if things would be different if they’d spoken, but probably not. He never knew Hwanjin, but he can only imagine the ocean Hwanjin had been drowning in for so long. Nobody could’ve saved him, probably.

“He must’ve been really sad,” Wooyoung says after a pause, chest aching and cotton candy bubbling in his stomach, “to have walked that plank.”

“Oh.”

Wooyoung knows it isn’t easy to talk about things. His wild scenarios fall out of his mouth so easily, but now, his tongue feels swollen and heavy, like a million wasps just drove their stingers into the flesh. He can’t imagine Hwanjin walking that plank because he can’t remember his face. Even then, he wouldn’t _want_ to imagine Hwanjin walking that plank because that isn’t just an outrageous scenario that Wooyoung’s brain manifests.

While Hwanjin didn’t literally walk a plank, he did stop breathing. He did drown, in a sense, but it wasn’t water that had taken his breath away.

When someone hears about something sad, something grief-worthy, the first thing they’re inclined to say is ‘I’m sorry.’ So Wooyoung expects San to say that, because humans are predictable like that.

San is still just an ordinary human being, but instead, he says, “He must have been really lonely.”

“People can be surrounded by friends and family and still… do that.”

“Oh, of course. It’s true that I can’t assume how many people he had in his life, but even so, he could’ve still _felt_ lonely. I’d… I’d imagine that’s how he felt. Whether he had people around him who cared about him or not, he himself must’ve felt lonely. Trapped. That sort of thing.”

_And now he’s trapped forever._

Wooyoung wonders what Hwanjin’s epitaph would say, or rather, what it _does_ say, if anything.

“You can be surrounded by people who care about you and still feel like you mean nothing. You can still feel incredibly lonely even if you talk to people every day. It’s a skewed perception that a lot of people have because it’s just so _easy_ to feel alone,” San continues, tone dripping with melancholia. “When you’re trapped inside yourself… when you’re drowning in sand or water or having your guts torn apart, it’s so easy to feel like you’re the only one who’s there.”

A headless body, neither Wooyoung’s nor Hwanjin’s, is drowning. They’re clawing at glass, desperately flailing to swim back up. But they’re alone.

“And when there’s no one there to save you, you just… give up. Especially when you don’t think you can save yourself.”

Wooyoung finds himself nodding.

In all of his scenarios, he only imagines his body being engulfed or ripped apart, and then the aftermath of it, being that his corpse is rotting away or completely absent, buried and accompanied by his tombstone. His friends are usually off to the side, laughing at him. They’re always there to watch him die.

He doesn’t, however, imagine the pain. He can’t imagine it because he’s never gone through it. He knows what smoke in his lungs feels like, not water, and he’s still breathing fine. There’s still oxygen and carbon dioxide being pumped in and out of his lungs. His lungs are both full and empty at the same time. There has never been a lack of air in them.

Holding his breath underwater is nothing compared to what Hwanjin must have gone through. So no, Wooyoung can’t imagine himself in the true act of death because he hasn’t died yet.

No one can imagine that pain unless they’ve been through it themselves.

“He must have been in a lot of pain too,” Wooyoung adds, feeling the fuzzy strands of San’s carpet beneath his fingertips. It’s a pleasant sensation.

“Yeah.”

No one can know what death feels like until they die. They can’t feel that pain. And as much as Wooyoung tries to, he can’t feel it. He isn’t imagining his body struggling at all. It’s always him willingly throwing himself into death, completely still.

But of course, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t _actually_ kill himself.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t imagine truly _dying._

“I’m not going to kill myself, San,” Wooyoung says.

“I believe you,” San replies, his mouth turned into an eighth of a smile. “You’re strong and stubborn, Wooyoung. You’re not going to let the sharks eat you like they do in your imagination. That cruise is going to land safely at the harbor, you’re going to get off of it, and you’re going to get so drunk and have the best sex of your life.”

Wooyoung chuckles. He tries to picture it now, but he can’t. It’s too tiring to. So he pretends that he does, and turns to San to show him the best smile he can muster.

“Whatever you say, Sannie.”

✲

Yunho’s shoes are squeaking against the polished dance floor, his steps echoing off of the off-white walls and adding to the mess of sounds that’s a mixture of button-pressing and the same goddamn loop over and over again because Mingi can’t catch his fucking Mewtwo.

“I didn’t bring enough Ultra Balls, and I can’t go back because then I’ll have to find the damn thing all over again!” Mingi protests once Wooyoung actually bursts from frustration.

All the while, Yunho’s been freestyling a choreography to that stupid Mewtwo music, grinning like an idiot.

Wooyoung supposes he could be doing worse things at the moment. As annoying as Mingi is being, hanging out with him and Yunho at the dance studio beats studying alone and probably drinking until his vision blurs and his fingers go numb. Watching Mingi play had been fun at first, but then he kept failing at his attempts to capture the most powerful Pokémon, because he only brought twenty Ultra Balls. That, and he kept accidentally killing it.

“If you catch it by six, I’ll treat you both out to dinner,” Yunho offers.

“Just fucking put the damn thing to sleep or something,” Wooyoung says with his limited Pokémon knowledge.

Wooyoung doesn’t know how long Mingi has been playing Pokémon for, but it must have not been for a long time if he didn’t know status conditions helped increase catch rate. Wooyoung sends a silent thank you to his little brother, who, at the young age of six years old, knows that and shared that knowledge with him for no reason.

Mingi catches Mewtwo on the tenth Ultra Ball after having gone through a hundred from previous attempts. Wooyoung immediately jumps up and screams, just _screams_ , because now Yunho gets to treat them to dinner (not that he would have an issue with it anyway).

It reminds him of that Sunday he’d met Yeosang in a similar fashion. At the dance studio, with Yunho, going to the same restaurant… it’s nice. And Wooyoung hasn’t gotten to talk to Mingi properly, since the last time had been when they were all stoned and Wooyoung was half out of his mind. So having casual conversations over a few (a _few_ ) shots of soju and endless plates of meat and seafood is much nicer in comparison.

Mingi talks about his job at the pet store, how he’s been seeing Yeosang a lot more often now. When Wooyoung tells him it’s Yeosang’s goal to have the world’s gayest fish tank, Mingi laughs and says, “Well that explains all the ridiculously colorful shit he buys all the time.”

He talks about San, how San’s main task is taking care of the kittens up for adoption. There aren’t that many, but they’re needy, so needy apparently that they require one person to take care of them at all times, and that person happens to be San. Mingi tells him that San’s favorite kitten is one that San named himself, Byeol, because San loves stars and kittens. Predictable, but cute nonetheless.

“You know,” Mingi says, chopsticks high and mighty, “San’s been talking about you.”

Wooyoung frowns immediately. “What about?”

“He says he’s been thinking about hanging out with you for New Years,” Mingi says with an innocent look. “Said that you plan on getting drunk alone.”

“I wasn’t being _that_ serious,” Wooyoung grumbles. “I don’t know what I’m doing for New Years. It’s still, like, a month and some weeks away. I have time.”

“Oh, that’s fair. But he was saying that he’d like to get to know you and all that. Always talks about how interesting you are and stuff. If I had to guess, I think he has a bit of a crush on you.” Mingi smirks and waggles his eyebrows, shooting Yunho a brief playful grin.

“Did he also mention that I don’t do feelings?” Wooyoung asks.

The smile is instantly wiped off Mingi’s face. “Oh. He did not mention that part.”

“Then don’t make assumptions.”

Mingi hangs his head and shoves a silent bite of rice into his mouth.

Wooyoung can’t help but find it amusing, how San is saying he wants to get to know him more even though he probably knows more about him that Yunho does. And Wooyoung has lived with Yunho for nearly two semesters.

Shit. San knows more about him than anyone else does, for that matter.

“Forgive him, Mingi-yah,” Yunho says. “He’s a bit emotionally constipated.”

“No amount of emotional laxatives will ever cure me of that,” Wooyoung quips with a scowl.

“Well, okay. I won’t talk about _that._ But San was talking about hanging out with you for New Years. Said he wanted to do something nice for you or something,” Mingi goes on.

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Okay. And?”

Both Yunho and Mingi frown, glancing at each other awkwardly. “Um… I guess that’s it,” Mingi says.

“Cool. Good to know.”

They eat the rest of their meal in an uncomfortable silence. Well, Wooyoung does, as he drowns out whatever Yunho and Mingi talk about and wonders what it would be like if San were here with them.

✲

**[the gay]**

_omg omg wooyoungie guess what_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_did u finally bang that hot teacher_

**[the gay]**

_teacher ASSISTANT. and no not yet_

_but we did hang out outside of the classroom for once_

_he’s so cute and awkward, like I would just be looking at him and he’d turn redder than a fucking tomato_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_lol do u think he’s a virgin_

**[the gay]**

_I would be VERY surprised if he’s a virgin bc he’s fucking HOT_

_LIKE HOW COULD ANYONE RESIST HIM OH MY GODDDD_

_I WANT HIS DICK IN MY ASSSSSSS_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_that should be easy to accomplish_

**[the gay]**

_thx sweetie but I’m still not going to fuck you_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_I gave up on that a long time ago my dude_

_just take it as a compliment and not ‘I’m trying to get in your pants’_

**[the gay]**

_fine_

_then thank you from the bottom of my versatile heart_

_also never call me ‘my dude’ again_

_you sound like jongho_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_ok_

_my bro_

_my homie_

_homeslice_

_broski_

**[You can no longer send messages to this number]**

✲

To Wooyoung’s surprise, he finds Hongjoong sitting at the café alone.

“Oh, Sannie’s got some work to catch up on, but I always stop in before I have to leave for the station. Have to get my caffeine fix, you know?” Hongjoong says, brown eyes glimmering beneath his transparent-framed glasses. His mouth barely peeps past his tartan scarf. “You can sit, if you’d like.”

Wooyoung nods and sits across from Hongjoong, pulling out his notebook that’s home to more doodles than notes. He’d abandoned his stick figure slash shark drawing, leaving half of a shark’s outline floating on top of the intricate waves. He’d almost forgotten that he’d written San’s name with an arrow connecting to the stick figure.

“That’s an interesting drawing,” Hongjoong comments, glancing it over. “I vaguely remember you mentioning shark therapists. Is that your therapist, then?”

“I don’t have a therapist,” Wooyoung says, amused. “But it would be cool to have a shark as one.”

“Something tells me that wouldn’t be the case. Such ruthless creatures will gobble you up in seconds. You wouldn’t be able to get a single word out before they chew you up and spit out your troubled bones.” Hongjoong sips his black iced coffee (through a reusable cup and straw, what a great guy) and smiles warmly, much like San. “Perhaps therapists are like that in real life, though.”

“You have a therapist?”

“Used to,” Hongjoong says. “I’m not saying all therapists are bad. But you can definitely tell which ones actually care and which ones do it just because it’s their job. I’ve gone through three, the first two being crotchety middle-aged men who probably hated their lives and needed therapy themselves, and the last one being this lovely young lady who actually helped me cope with such emotions.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Mm, I stopped going about a year ago. Couldn’t keep up with the expenses, but she was definitely able to help me with things. Now, I’m doing just fine on my own. Everyone has bad days, of course. But as I was saying, some therapists are truly like sharks. Watching your every move, calculating your motions. If they deem you insane enough, they’ll chew you out of your money, make you feel like you _need_ to be on antidepressants and set you up with a psychiatrist, a whole new doctor to spend even _more_ money on. All the while, you’ll just sit there in a comfy armchair and ramble on about your problems when they’re not even listening. Just. Like. Sharks.” Hongjoong takes a dramatic sip of his coffee.

Somehow, the image of the Yunho-shark therapist is becoming distorted. Instead of eating him, it’s just sitting there, motionless, as Wooyoung speaks words of gibberish, and all of a sudden, money starts pouring out of Wooyoung’s mouth and the therapist drops to his knees to gather all of his unearned earnings.

“You seem to like sharks, Wooyoung-ah,” Hongjoong says.

“I’m trying to come up with something different. The sharks are getting old.” Wooyoung turns the page of his notebook to a blank slate. College-ruled, of course. He _is_ in college, and he can’t comprehend why anybody would want to use wide-ruled. It saves a lot more room.

“May I offer an idea?” Wooyoung nods, dipping his head to signal Hongjoong to continue. “Okay, so, a ceiling fan. A freight train. A thousand umbrellas.”

“What?”

“I’m challenging your mind, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong says matter-of-factly with a quite serious stare. “Your imagination is unlike anything I’ve ever known. Somehow, you’re able to come up with such outrageous scenarios just like _that._ ” He snaps his fingers. “So I’m challenging you. A ceiling fan, a freight train, and a thousand umbrellas. Go.”

Wooyoung blinks, not entirely sure of what to do. “Do you want me to… talk? Draw? What?”

“That’s up to you,” Hongjoong says with a satisfied nod. “You said you needed something different. I’m just offering some food for thought.”

“I think you’ve had too much caffeine.”

“That’s definitely true, but less talk about my caffeine addiction and more about you and whatever your brain can come up with in this very moment. Something about a ceiling fan, a freight train, and a thousand umbrellas.”

If Wooyoung has to hear that list of words again, an umbrella is going to sprout from his head and lift him off the ground like Mary Poppins.

He doesn’t actually know _when_ he starts brainstorming or doodling; it just _happens._ He repeats the list of words in his head so Hongjoong doesn’t have to say it again, and on his page, he draws a freight train floating in the sky with a ceiling fan perched on what would be its head if it were personified, surrounded by a plethora of umbrellas (not a thousand, because there’s no way Wooyoung would actually take the time to count and draw a thousand umbrellas).

It’s not the most detailed drawing, but it’s something.

“You’re a good artist, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong says as Wooyoung shades the sides of the train. “Now, tell me the story.”

“The story?”

“Each of your scenarios has a purpose. A story. _Something._ After all, your brain doesn’t come up with that stuff for no reason.”

“How would you know that?”

Hongjoong gives him a wide grin, eyes scrunching with glowing pride. “Why do you think I do music?”

Wooyoung doesn’t respond to the question; instead, he continues to shade in the train’s edges and lets his brain run free.

“The train was so tired of carrying shit on its back, always operated by _man_ , when all it wanted was to be free. But it was always held down, due to both human operation and the sheer weight of itself. Every day, it wished for something to take it away, to let him float among the clouds. And one day, a fan sprouted at its head, just like a flower. Kind of like those little propeller things on those colorful hats everyone wanted as a kid. A flock of umbrellas and a gust of wind kickstarted the propeller, and the train was lifted off the ground. It was finally free. The end.”

There are several seconds of silence before both of them burst out laughing.

“You could be a children’s book author or something with that imagination,” Hongjoong says.

“I do not want to write for sticky little demons.”

“Oh, of course, I understand that entirely.” Hongjoong lets out a deep breath, smiling contently as he stares at Wooyoung’s drawing. “Wooyoung, do you want to know why I went to therapy?”

No, Wooyoung thinks, not particularly. But he shrugs in response, and Hongjoong answers his own question. “I used to think too much, and I had no outlet. My imagination was nowhere near as outlandish and bizarre as yours, but it was detrimental to my health, definitely. Couldn’t sleep at night, couldn’t bring myself to do much of anything because I just couldn’t stop _thinking_. And while I still don’t get the ideal amount of sleep, I’m doing plenty with my life now because I’m able to channel my thoughts into something that I like to do, which is music.”

Wooyoung nods. He’s heard some of Hongjoong’s music on his radio show. It’s similar to the songs he advertises, but there’s that Hongjoong-esque _quirk._ The one or many features that sign Kim Hongjoong’s name at the bottom. The individuality of it.

“But even so, Wooyoungie, if I stopped thinking completely, I wouldn’t be doing music. I’d be brain dead, on the floor, doing absolutely nothing. I might as well transform into one of Seonghwa’s plants and rely on sunlight to keep me alive. So then, my message to you is to never, ever stop thinking. If you ever think about wanting to stop thinking, stop it.”

“Hongjoong-hyung, I don’t—”

“Shh, don’t say anything. I’m already sure of what you’re going to say next,” Hongjoong says. “Just take my words. _Think_ about them. Let them soak in. And don’t. Say. Anything.”

Wooyoung has never maintained this much silence eye contact with anybody in his entire life, and it’s starting to feel like a trillion grains of sand clogging his pores. It itches. It makes him shiver. His entire body has become the desert itself.

“You’re right, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong says, slicing the silence into cubes. “I did have too much caffeine today.”

Wooyoung snorts so loudly that the entire café’s staff turns to look at him, but he doesn’t pay any mind. Not at all.

He simply soaks in Hongjoong’s words, lets the sand disintegrate, and breathes in the fresh air as his umbrella lifts him off the ground.

✲

When Wooyoung finally meets Seonghwa, it’s at a party that Yeosang insisted he come to, because with how packed Seonghwa’s schedule is, this may be the only day Wooyoung gets to meet him.

As it turns out, it _is_ the student Wooyoung had encountered that day. Seonghwa doesn’t seem to recognize him, though, but he’s also pretty drunk when Wooyoung shakes his hand. He’s teetering on his own two feet, eyes drooping lazily, and from what he can tell, Yeosang is just as inebriated.

He has to admit that Seonghwa is very attractive, though. His looks could actually compete with Yeosang’s. He’s just as Hongjoong described him, with a sharp jawline, sorta thick eyebrows, full lips, swoopy black hair, and eyes that are even more intense than Yeosang’s. His makeup is _impeccable_ , better than any makeup look Wooyoung has ever done.

Yeosang is really lucky, Wooyoung thinks. He’s happy for them.

Unfortunately for him, he has no other reason to be at this party. With Seonghwa and Yeosang all over each other, Yunho at a different party entirely, and everyone else doing who knows what, Wooyoung feels a bit out of place. At a party.

_Well, that’s a first._

So, with only the tiniest amount of alcohol in his system (so tiny that he feels fucking sober), he ventures back out onto the university campus with no destination in mind. He aimlessly wanders the concrete pathways until he reaches the one where San had seen him blunder. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since then.

This time around, San doesn’t come to his rescue. Not that he needs rescuing, but he’s pretty fucking bored.

Figuring that the universe isn’t going to give him what he wants, he texts San and asks him what he’s doing.

San responds within seconds.

✲

“He’s _really_ hot,” Wooyoung says, face stuffed with popcorn. “Like, _really_ hot. I mean, it’s Yeosang, so it’s not all that surprising he’d end up with someone as equally hot.”

“Oh, yeah. Hongjoong’s showed me pictures of him before. He _is_ really hot.”

“Hongjoong is weird,” Wooyoung says, thinking about the train.

San chuckles. “Well, yeah. Why do you think I’m friends with him?”

“You must like weird people.”

“Weird people are fun,” San says with a shrug. “Why do you think I’m friends with you?”

“Because I’m weird, apparently.”

San scoffs and punches his arm with a butter-covered fist. “Well, that’s one thing. But there are plenty of reasons why I’m friends with you.”

“Such as?”

“See, I _would_ tell you, but that would defeat so many purposes,” San says with a wink.

“Can you at least tell me what those purposes are?” Wooyoung inquires with two winks.

San pauses in a brief moment of consideration, glancing around Wooyoung’s bedroom curiously. “Maybe I want you to think for yourself.”

Though he doesn’t say it condescendingly, Wooyoung can’t help but take a little offense to that. Hell, the other day, Hongjoong might have insinuated that he thinks _too much._ And now, San wants him to ‘think for himself?’

It’s another thinking challenge, apparently. Similar, yet different. It seems like San and Hongjoong like to make him _think._

“Alright, San,” Wooyoung says in a chuckle.

He’s not entirely sure what San wants him to think about, but he goes along with it. That’s all he’s been doing anyway. Just rolling with it, being a tumbleweed, a speck of dust on Yeosang’s skateboard, the thousand umbrellas.

He sways his head to the song on Hongjoong’s show and imagines fireworks.

“Hey, Wooyoung,” San says, “so I was thinking. I know you said you’re gonna spend Christmas with your family and probably come back for the new year, so… I might do the same, actually. Do you know what Yunho will be doing?”

“Probably spend the whole break back home. He’s pretty popular there, maybe even more than he is here.” Wooyoung snickers, thinking about all the friends Yunho has back in his hometown and how shitty he is compared to them. He could probably never compare to Yunho’s friends and family who are probably just as rich as he is.

“Then I’ll come back here for the new year and we can spend it together. O-only if you want, of course.”

Wooyoung shrugs. “I mean, that’s up to you. I’m coming back here, and it’s not like I can stop you from coming back here too. If you want to spend the new year together, sure.”

San blinks several times, mouth floundering like he hadn’t been expecting Wooyoung to agree. It’s cute. “Oh, um, yeah! I-I was thinking we could even set off a few of our own fireworks. I mean, I would take you to see a bigger show, but—”

“It’s fine,” Wooyoung interjects. “As much as I like partying, I’m not one for going to huge events like that. I definitely wouldn’t mind a little show of our own.”

“Cool! Ah, um, I mean… yeah. Cool.”

 _Cute_ , Wooyoung thinks.

“Um, thanks, Wooyoung,” San mumbles, head down, but Wooyoung can still see that smile of his.

“Why do you thank me for things that shouldn’t be thanked for?”

San shrugs. “I’m just glad you didn’t, like, push me away. I’m glad that we’re hanging out, that we’re friends and stuff, even after… yeah.”

“After we hooked up?”

“Yeah.”

“Sannie, in case you forgot, we’ve made out twice since the party,” Wooyoung points out, and the two of them laugh. “I think we’re way past that. But… you’re welcome, I guess.”

It’s weird, seeing San so flustered, but it’s still cute. Wooyoung shuffles over, slotting his head into San’s neck while he leans up against his bed. It’s almost as if he can _feel_ San smile.

“Can we make out again, then?” San asks.

“Can we wash our hands before we make out, then?”

He doesn’t even say yes before they’re both standing up and beelining towards the bathroom, swiftly scrubbing their hands until the butter disappears down the drain.

When they’re back in the bedroom, they fall onto their sides and connect their lips just as they’d done before.

Wooyoung really, _really_ likes kissing San. Out of all the sloppy make out sessions he’s had, somehow, San is able to make it enjoyable, not just some clash of spit and tongue that honestly leaves a nasty feeling in Wooyoung’s mouth. San does it with finesse, his tongue moving in ways that has Wooyoung’s head spinning and wondering what star sent San down to Earth.

San holds his jaw, thumb near his ear, and kisses him deeply, passionately, and in this moment, when his tombstone is somewhere on Earth and the Cruise of Suffering is smoothly sailing, it’s all he needs to feel that same high that he always seeks whenever he goes to a party.

He’s high off of San’s lips. He doesn’t even know how that’s possible.

But if there’s one thing Wooyoung has learned time and time again, it’s that whatever goes up must come down.

The umbrellas will close and plummet to the ground. The propeller will stop spinning and the train will crash upon landing and explode. Good times are temporary.

He kisses San back with so much fervor that his lips feel like they’re going numb, but that wouldn’t be much different from how he is now.

Numb. So very numb.

Good times are temporary, but he will stretch them out for as long as he can. He _needs_ to.

“Wooyoung,” San gasps as he pulls away for air, and Wooyoung’s lips attach to his neck. “Fuck, Wooyoung.”

His name sounds so good when San says it.

He doesn’t tell San that, though. He simply lets himself fall into bliss again, because _this_ is what he wants, what he’s good for. Mister Slutty Dickhead, promiscuous bisexual. But fuck, with San, it’s different somehow, especially when San is panting in his ear, whispering that he’s _beautiful_ , and Wooyoung can’t even begin to understand how San thinks so.

_“I don’t get why he did it,” someone said. “He had such a promising future, not to mention he was so good-looking!”_

_“What a waste. I feel for his family, though," said another with a scowl._

_“I just can’t even begin to wrap my head around it!”_

_“He was a coward, that’s why. Well, it’s done now. He’s gone.”_

_How cruel_ , Wooyoung thinks.

He wasn’t a coward. He wanted to be free.

Maybe Wooyoung has something in common with him.

He just hopes, prays, that the umbrellas whisk him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)


	4. inconvenient fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wooyoung chuckles aloud. “Is that San?” Hongjoong asks.
> 
> “Yeah, how’d you guess?”
> 
> Hongjoong sighs with a grin, fingers tenderly curled around his mug. He leans back, looking somewhat smug.
> 
> “He’s the only one who can make you smile like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for mentions of self-harm and depression, references to family issues
> 
> this chapter is brought to you by ‘asleep’ by the smiths

If Wooyoung didn’t have to pay rent to live in this apartment, he would paint the grooves in his ceiling and bring his imagination to life. He’d draw every flower, all the sharks, an hourglass, a train, his stupid gravestone, a thousand umbrellas… he’d paint until he couldn’t paint anymore, until there isn’t a single space occupied by color. Granted, he’s never been very good at painting, but it would be pretty cool to have a constant reminder of his fucked up imagination staring down at him whenever he goes to sleep.

For now, he’s stuck with staring up, letting his eyes be his pencil as he moves them in constant saccades to draw his invisible imagination.

Maybe, if he gets his own place someday, he’ll dedicate an entire room to his imagination. Paint all the walls, the ceiling, the inside of the closet. Every nook and cranny would be dedicated to an aspect or scenario of his imagination.

He can see it now. Gruesome images of vampire bats devouring his body, his corpse rotting in the middle of the desert as fireworks burst in the background. On the adjacent wall, the Pacific Ocean, with sharks tearing him limb from limb, as the Cruise of Suffering sails peacefully above the water. He’ll even draw his friends with their names and arrows pointing to them.

Then, and only then (and only _maybe_ ), will he be free from his imagination, as his imagination will be freed from him.

But until then, he’ll have to settle for gazing up at a whole lot of nothing, letting his brain reign free.

The universe doesn’t give him a lot of options, does it?

✲

It’s all too familiar, once finals season rolls around and Wooyoung has to start studying again. He’ll spend late nights mindlessly staring at a screen and taking notes that probably aren’t all going to be useful. He’ll be awake at two, sometimes three in the morning ‘studying,’ when in reality, he’s face down on his textbook, and when he wakes up, his forehead is sticking to the page and he’s surprised that he hasn’t gotten any ink on it.

But what he’s actually doing is communicating with the book through his head, absorbing the information as he sleeps as information seeps into his skull, eventually his brain, to be stored away for a few tests to prove the effectiveness of said absorption, and then never to be used again. How tragic, Wooyoung thinks.

Periods like these, where his education matters most for about two weeks, are crucial ‘no party’ times. Even Yunho takes exam season seriously.

Except Wooyoung hasn’t partied for _several_ weeks, maybe a month. Not since _that_ party.

With global warming fucking Earth in the ass, a particularly warm, humid December Friday has Wooyoung taking shelter in the café again, where there’s actual temperature control. Not even four in the afternoon and the sky is already starting to darken, a foreboding weather report having told of severe thunderstorms earlier in the week. What a lovely Friday.

Luckily and unluckily for Wooyoung, he only has to wait another week for the next party. The last one before the partygoers return home to their families and spend quality family time together or whatever conventional families do during the holidays. If Wooyoung had more friends who had just as little family as him, he’d throw his own party where they can all celebrate the misery and loneliness and desire for a normal life.

If he had as much money as Yunho, he’d rent a cruise for an entire week, name it the S.S. Suffering (has a better ring to it than ‘Cruise of Suffering,’ he decides), and sail the ocean blues with a little family of his own.

Wooyoung can’t help but envy the lives of his friends. There are plenty of things they have that he doesn’t, and while he doesn’t really give a shit about having a shit ton of money like Yunho, hearing all about their exciting plans and vacations scheduled for winter break has his insides twisting and turning like the S.S. Suffering is making him seasick. The waves of a normal life and healthy familial relationships taunt him from below, crashing against the hull as a whirlpool manifests right in front of him, threatening to drown him and the family he wished he had.

A low rumble of thunder plays on its turntable, followed by a sudden flash of lightning, followed by louder boom. From the window next to him, Wooyoung watches as groups of students disperse and skitter away, a thousand umbrellas opening.

“Lovely weather we’re having, hm?” Hongjoong slides into the booth, smiling.

“Love it,” Wooyoung replies only half sarcastically.

As much as he feels seasick, he really does like rain. It reminds him of himself. Some people like it, some people hate it. But most see it as an inconvenience either way.

“You still on for your show tonight?” Wooyoung asks.

“No. Can’t risk power outages fucking up the broadcast, so we usually just cancel shows whenever the weather’s like this,” Hongjoong says. “I’m just here for the caffeine. Gotta keep up my routine, you know? Even without the show, I still need to maintain my fucked up circadian rhythm and nocturnal lifestyle. And that, dearest Wooyoung, is why I am here tonight, just like I am every night.”

“Out of curiosity, how much money have you spent here?”

Hongjoong chuckles conspicuously. “Oh darling, you should know that the answer to that question is far greater than whatever number you’re thinking right now.”

Well, Wooyoung is actually thinking about whatever the total amount in Yunho’s bank account is, but 1. he knows it’s a lot but doesn’t know exactly how much, and 2. he has no idea how long Hongjoong has been coming to this café, how many times Hongjoong comes to this café in one day, or how much Hongjoong’s coffees are.

So he just rolls with it and nods.

“Preparing for dreaded finals, I see,” Hongjoong points out, glancing at Wooyoung’s textbook and the messy scrawl of his notes. “Have you been in touch with Sannie?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung answers warily. Why _wouldn’t_ he be in touch? They’re friends after all. “What about you?”

“Mm, well, you see, he takes his studies very seriously. He does well studying in the library or back at his place. Here is nice too, but he tells me he gets distracted here more often than not. Plus, since the library is open later, he says it’s the best place to get some last-minute cramming in. I don’t know how he does it, but I guess he works better in complete silence. I’d go insane if I didn’t have at least some instrumentals in my eardrums.”

If there’s one thing Wooyoung has learned, it’s that Hongjoong definitely talks a lot more than San. It’s no wonder San gets distracted when he’s here; these two could talk each other’s ears off for an entire night.

An invisible blade slices Hongjoong ears off. Wooyoung chuckles.

“So, Wooyoung-ah, what do you have planned for winter break?”

 _Clinging onto the railing of the S.S. Suffering for dear life while a storm wrecks it worse than the iceberg with the Titanic._ “Seeing family.”

“Ah, of course.”

“And you?”

“Perhaps the same. Haven’t entirely decided yet. The station will be closed until winter break is over, but I prefer to stay away from the people who _love_ to belittle my hopes and dreams, so I may just spend more time in the studio to work on my music. I have a friend back home who will probably be willing to house me while I return to work at the record shop…” He pauses, then chuckles. “As you can see, Wooyoung-ah, I do believe that my circadian rhythm severely affects my ability to plan.”

Wooyoung snorts at that. At least he’s aware of it.

But it’s somewhat nice to know that he isn’t the only one with an atypical family… or so it seems.

“Your family doesn’t support you and your music?”

Hongjoong shakes his head with a pout. “When they told me I couldn’t major in music, you could say I rebelled by not going to university at all. I had a job at a record shop in high school, and that’s where my love for music came from. The owner showed me the glory of music and the pursuit of happiness through it, but of course, I just _had_ to come from a conservative family who wanted me to major in something that would require absurd amounts of math and talking to wealthy people to worm my way into the higher-ups, and I did _not_ want to do that. So what did I do? I rebelled, moved out, worked, stayed with my friends, even with my coworkers at one point, until I saved up enough to purchase equipment for my own little studio.”

Somewhere on the S.S. Suffering, Hongjoong switches the record to a power ballad.

“I haven’t seen my immediate family since I moved out,” Hongjoong says, but his tone is nothing short of content. He’s smiling proudly, entirely pleased with his accomplishments. “My aunt, though, bless that woman.”

Wooyoung finds himself smiling.

_“I’ll take care of them, okay, Wooyoung-ah? Don’t worry about us. You need to go, explore, experience what college has to offer. Don’t let this hold you back.”_

“She’s the only one who still sends me cards on holidays, and I send her bouquets. She’s been there to support me from day one, but one could say she’s the rebel of my mother’s generation. I only follow in her footsteps,” Hongjoong continues.

“It’s the same with me,” Wooyoung says. “I really only see my aunt and little brother. They’re the ones I’m going to see for Christmas, and then I’m coming back here.”

“When’s the last time you saw your mother?”

Wooyoung’s face twists as he tries to remember with what little cognition he has left for the night.

_“I’m proud of you, Wooyoung-ah. Really and truly. Just be careful out there, okay? Remember what I told you.”_

“I can’t remember,” he says.

“I see.”

There is another burst of thunder, but it’s almost as if the thunder is the boisterous commotion of faceless shadows, pointing and laughing at him as the tattered remains of his family circle the whirlpool, down into the deep, dark abyss of the ocean. Somewhere in the mix is the laughter of his very own friends, whose families watch in amusement as Wooyoung’s is torn apart by ravenous mutant sharks.

It doesn’t quite sound like thunder anymore. Wooyoung sort of wishes Hongjoong would do his show tonight.

“Well, Wooyoungie, there is no such thing as a perfect family,” Hongjoong says. “And I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking about everyone around you who has a better family than you and how you wish you had a family like theirs. Of course, everyone wishes for something that they don’t have. Yes, some families are more broken than other families. But this is what you have, Wooyoung. An aunt and a little brother who you so clearly care about. Hold onto _them._ They will save you from the sharks.”

Wooyoung supposes that’s the most optimistic view he can have, but he feels even more seasick just thinking about it. Optimism. Who has the time and energy for that?

Just when Wooyoung is about to turn back to his books, his phone goes off.

**[sanshine]**

_hey, could you come over? i think my brain has reached maximum bullshit capacity_

_i’m kind of going insane and need some company, mingi’s working_

_plus i love thunderstorms and would rather spend it with someone_

_that sounded flirty omg i promise I’m not flirting with you_

Wooyoung chuckles aloud. “Is that San?” Hongjoong asks.

“Yeah, how’d you guess?”

Hongjoong sighs with a grin, fingers tenderly curled around his mug. He leans back, looking somewhat smug.

“He’s the only one who can make you smile like that.”

✲

San’s colored lights twinkle above and around them as his ‘Stormy Night’ playlist hums softly in the background. With pink, red, blue, and purple as the designated colors, the ominous night has turned much more temperate even though torrential downpours continue to hammer down on rooftops and windowpanes.

With the music, the rain, and the occasional chewing, tonight feels like a mere drizzle instead of a storm. The whirlpool calms.

“So… what are you going to do over winter break?” Wooyoung asks.

“Well, I’m coming back to spend the new year with you, but afterwards, I don’t know. My family doesn’t plan anything during the winter. What about you?”

“Staying here, working.” Wooyoung fiddles with the fuzz on the carpet and thinks about how unpleasant it would feel wet.

“For the entire break?”

“Yup.”

San sighs, the lights barely illuminating his frown. “Is Yunho going to come back?”

“Nope,” Wooyoung replies. “I’m gonna be alone until break is over.”

“That’s…” San can’t find the words, and Wooyoung doesn’t blame him.

Wooyoung knows he isn’t _alone_ , but he’s used to being alone.

“I would spend winter break with you if I could. Really, I would. Just… my family wants me home. Not to mention my father usually wants my help at the taekwondo studio whenever I’m free—”

“Taekwondo?”

“Yeah!” San says, frown immediately flipping upside down. “I’m a third degree black belt.”

Well, shit. If that’s the case, San could totally roundhouse kick him in the face, choke him out, shove him in quicksand, _and_ manage to escape mostly unscathed and unsuspected. Hypothetically, at least. In the real world, it explains the chiseled abs.

Wooyoung believes San wouldn’t do that, though. Sort of. With how unpredictable the universe is, San could either knock him out here and now or fuck him so hard that he merges with the mattress. Both sound pretty good.

Instead of saying those slightly alarming remarks, Wooyoung says, “Shit.”

“Trust me, I don’t just go around kicking people. I’ve never even had to use it outside of the studio. Granted, if someone ever tries to get physical with me, I may or may not blind them, but I’m harmless for the most part.”

Wooyoung nods, eyes hesitantly fixed on San’s face as he wonders how many black eyes he’s had. Probably none. San is both too nice and too scary to be beaten up.

“So yeah, I’m really sorry I can’t spend the rest of winter break with you,” San says.

Wooyoung scoffs. “Why are you sorry? You have family and important things to do. Do what you have to do and don’t worry about me. Really.”

“It’s not that I’m worried about you,” San says unconvincingly. “It just sucks that you won’t have anyone to spend break with. I mean, couldn’t you go back to stay with your aunt and little brother?”

“Who else is gonna sell sex toys?”

San can’t help but chuckle at that. “Well, sure, you have a point there. But really… two months on your own?” He sighs, jaw clenched. “Okay, maybe I can finesse something with my parents and come back early so you won’t be alone for that long—”

“I’m telling you, San, you don’t need to do that.” It comes out a little more brusquely than Wooyoung intends, but he can’t help it.

San has a family. His father owns a taekwondo studio, where he probably teaches kids who also has family. San has both parents. San can go home to them. They love him, most likely. San has to go home to them and stay with them because he _can._

“But I want—”

“Just _stop_ , San.” San gasps silently at Wooyoung’s sudden hostility. “You have your family. You need to go and see them. Don’t come back early just because you don’t want me to be alone. I’m fine on my own, trust me.”

As if Wooyoung has just swum up for air, he’s breathless.

Humid silence hangs between them as rain batters down. Wooyoung is the first to look away, finding it hard to look San in the eyes even though the colored lights almost seen to enhance his beauty. Really, Wooyoung wants to look at him, but he knows that San is just another reminder of the things he doesn’t have.

Things that he can’t face to begin with.

“Wooyoung… why don’t you want to spend time with your aunt and little brother?”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He just has other responsibilities to uphold, such as working at the sex shop…

Well, maybe not that many _mandatory_ responsibilities. Maybe he can clean the apartment or something.

“My aunt has other things to do without me getting in the way. I have work here, which I need to keep up. My little brother…”

_”Hyung, do what imo says! I’ll wait for you to come back, so don’t worry!”_

“He wants me to be here. Not that he doesn’t want me to be with him, but… he’s fine on his own. My aunt’s raising him well.”

San nods tentatively. All the while, Wooyoung waits for the inevitable question, _What about your parents? Don’t you want to spend time with them?_ But it never comes.

“Well, fine. But if you ever _do_ get lonely and want me here, let me know. And don’t be afraid to text me over break. Believe it or not, I’m a lot more bored at home than I am here.”

Afraid? Nonsense, Wooyoung thinks.

He does have to admit, though, he’s pretty bored no matter where he goes, whether he stays with his aunt or stays here alone. He’ll stare up at his ceiling, probably lose track of time and forget to eat. Maybe he’ll hibernate like a bear. Maybe he’ll turn into one and ravage the streets. Maybe he’ll actually get arrested in his bear form and make up for all the other times he should’ve gotten arrested.

“You keep me entertained, Wooyoungie,” San says, “and it’s not just that imagination of yours. So… I’ll miss you.”

It takes Wooyoung a lot not to scoff. Miss _him_? What a joke. But of course, Wooyoung would never say that. He does his best not to raise concern if he can help it. He feels like he’s done enough for the night, though it’s not even night yet. It’s only six.

He sighs and shuffles over to San’s side, resting his head on San’s shoulder. His eyelids are heavy, but when aren’t they? His eyes may be tired but the rest of him isn’t.

Somehow, this very moment reminds Wooyoung of a night that he can’t entirely remember, but it’s there. It’s dark, his eyelids are heavy, and he has his head resting on San’s shoulders. No matter how much he tries to light the memory in his brain, he’s unable to.

So he asks.

“Sannie, I can’t remember.”

“Remember what?”

“We’ve been like this before, haven’t we?”

“Been like what?”

“Like _this_.” Wooyoung simply motions at the two of them. “Where I was leaning my head on your shoulder. It wasn’t here. It was somewhere else, and I can’t remember.”

“Would it happen to be that time when you got so high you could barely walk?” San suggests.

That might’ve been it. Wooyoung knows he’s gotten uncontrollably high and drunk before. He tries to blink the bleariness away. Why can’t he remember? Had he really gotten that drunk? Why can’t he fucking remember?

“Why can’t I remember?” he murmurs to himself.

“I don’t know, Wooyoungie,” San says, leaning his head into Wooyoung’s. “You didn’t even drink that much, and I don’t know enough about weed and its effect on memory, but I swear you didn’t smoke that much either. So I really can’t tell you why you don’t remember.”

When Wooyoung smokes, he usually remembers things. According to San, he hadn’t drunk or smoked that much to warrant complete memory loss. So _why can’t he remember?_

“Can you tell me about that night?” Wooyoung asks. “I want to remember it.”

San sighs through his nose before resting a hand over Wooyoung’s. It’s warm, just like his smile, just like the rest of him. His fingers are soft and gentle on his. “We were with everyone. Me, you, Yunho, Mingi, Yeosang, and Jongho. We all smoked and drank a bit… well, some more so than others. I was fine pretty much the whole night. At one point, you said your head always gets heavy when you’re high so you leaned on my shoulder. You fell asleep after talking about your shark therapist, and I put you up against the sofa so I could use the bathroom. After you woke up, I ran into you in the hallway and you looked like you were about to fall over, so I helped you into bed.”

For some reason, Wooyoung still can’t remember any of that happening.

“Keep going.”

San’s fingers stroke his. “We kissed a lot that night because you said you wanted to remember.”

“Remember what?”

“What it was like when we first kissed. At the party.”

It’s so fucking stupid, Wooyoung thinks. How he can’t even remember what he wanted to remember. Has the alcohol and marijuana finally caught up with him? Has the universe completely taken away his ability to recall things that are seemingly important?

But somehow, Wooyoung can remember one thing.

He can remember what San’s lips feel like, perhaps because they’ve kissed since then, since that night, since the party. Wooyoung knows he likes kissing San. His mind goes blank whenever their lips move together but somehow he’s able to remember it now. He loves it when San snakes his tongue into his mouth and grips his hips and grinds into him. He loves it when San’s body is flush against his. He loves breathing in San’s breaths.

Okay, maybe he can remember multiple things.

But none of them feel as important as the things he can’t remember.

“Did we fuck?” Wooyoung asks, expecting the answer to be yes.

“No,” San says, amused. “You were drunk and high. I wasn’t about to take advantage of that. I kissed you because you asked me to, and the whole time, not once did you ask me to have sex with you. Even if you did, I wouldn’t have.”

Wooyoung lifts his head from San’s shoulder and stares at him in disbelief. “I don’t get it,” he says, sand and gravel in his lungs. “I didn’t ask to have sex with you?”

San looks at him with an equal amount of disbelief. “No? We haven’t had _sex_ sex since the party. In case you don’t remember, we’ve made out a few times, gave each other handjobs, showered together, but we haven’t fucked since the party.” His voice grows increasingly impatient.

Wooyoung feels himself wince. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” San asks. Wooyoung feels like they ask each other that a lot.

“I’m sorry that I can’t remember. Seriously, I… I don’t know why.” He sucks in his bottom lip and huffs as he collapses back against the foot of the bed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Is there something wrong with me? I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Wooyoung can see San’s lip curl up into a quarter smile, and somehow, it’s familiar. He might have seen it before. “You’re okay, Wooyoung. You said so yourself.” San takes his hand in his, this time, interlacing their fingers and squeezing reassuringly. “You’re okay.”

Wooyoung doesn’t know if he believes him entirely, but it’s enough to spark something in his chest, where he swings one leg over San’s lap and straddles his outstretched legs. “Wooyoung…” San glances up at him.

From Wooyoung’s point of view, he is a tiny bird hovering above an enormous mountain. He is easily shaken by a gust of wind, and this mountain below him remains unperturbed. It stands tall, proud. Things that Wooyoung kind of wishes he could be. He takes San’s other hand and runs his thumbs along San’s. San does the same.

“Why are you so nice to me?” Wooyoung asks, the words dancing a familiar waltz on his tongue.

“Why would I not be nice?”

Familiar. Familiar familiar familiar.

“You asked me that before, you know. When we met.” San’s eyes rake him up and down. “When we were done, I was about to leave when you asked me that same question. It was so weird to me at the time, like, what reason would I have not to be nice?”

Wooyoung’s hands migrate from San’s hands to his shoulders, sliding into his neck as San’s hands grasp his waist. Familiar. “I said, ‘You’re a strange one, Wooyoung,’ and I stand by that even now. You’re still very, very strange.” San’s fingers slip under the hem of his shirt. “I’m nice to you because you deserve it, Wooyoung. You don’t deserve anything less.”

 _Familiar_.

Wooyoung presses forward, catching San’s lips as their breaths merge again. It’s fast, abrupt, and messy. It’s what Wooyoung is all about. The chaos, the rashness, the inability to breathe. But this time around, it’s Choi San stealing his breath from him, _again_ , and Wooyoung loves it. He’s dizzy, both from his struggling to breathe and because it feels like his ship is sinking again.

“Wooyoung,” San gasps, “bed. Now.”

Wooyoung swears this is the fastest he’s moved in a while. One second, they’re clambering onto the bed, and the next, the shirts are off, and the next, Wooyoung has his lips on San’s bare chest, fingers trailing down his abs and down to his exposed cock.

He can’t breathe, but it’s never felt so good.

When his mouth travels further down, San tangles his fingers in his hair. Wooyoung is pretty sure this hasn’t happened before. It’s familiar but not.

There have been plenty of fingers in his hair in instances like these. But not Choi San’s, not like this.

Wooyoung kisses San’s hipbones, down to his thighs. And that’s when the light hits them.

There are marks on San’s thighs. At first glance under these blue lights, they look like wrinkles. Wooyoung ignores them.

When Wooyoung sinks his mouth down on San’s cock, he grabs onto San’s right thigh. His thumb grazes over the marks. They don’t feel like the rest of his skin. They are wrinkles, but they aren’t. They are crevices, carvings onto a mountain. Jagged edges and signs of wear and tear.

They are unfamiliar. Wooyoung doesn’t remember them.

After this, however, he has a feeling that he will.

_“You know, I used to feel like that. I used to think I wasn’t important. I mean, occasionally I still do. But even though you won’t believe me, Wooyoung, you are important.”_

✲

When finals are finally done, when the _school year_ is finally done, Wooyoung throws all of the shit on his desk onto the floor (minus his laptop, that thing was expensive) and screams. Yunho walks in, completely nonchalant, with a toothbrush in his mouth.

“That’s not what I call getting ready.” Yunho’s words are garbled around a gross concoction of toothpaste and spit.

“Shut the fuck up,” Wooyoung says with no particular emotion. He already has his outfit picked out. He doesn’t even want to bother with makeup. He’s ready to relive his reputation, to go out and let the fuck go because he _needs it._ He’s hot and he knows it. He doesn’t need to spend an upwards of an hour doing makeup. He’ll get laid because he knows he can.

When Yeosang shows up, Seonghwa is standing right beside him. “Oh, shit. Hey,” Wooyoung greets, quite informal considering this is probably his second or third time meeting the guy, but it’s not like he gives a shit.

Well, the thing about Seonghwa is that he’s handsome, strikingly so, and even in a solid black dress shirt and loose gray slacks, Seonghwa somehow looks ready to party. With three buttons down, he still pulls off that teacher’s assistant look, but he does it sluttily for the occasion. Wooyoung approves.

“Is San coming?” Yeosang asks.

“He’s meeting us there,” Yunho answers before Wooyoung can. Because, y’know, he definitely can’t answer for himself. “Mingi too.”

“Lovely!”

“What about Jongho?” Yunho says.

“Ah, he actually left right after he finished his last final. His family’s quite strict, I guess. Anyway, let’s go!”

_A strict family, huh?_

Wooyoung is at the caboose of his friends, trailing behind Yunho, and he wonders if a dictatorial family is better or worse than none at all.

✲

To nobody’s surprise, San and Mingi are already there when they arrive. They all mingle with greetings and bro-hugs and whatnot while Wooyoung makes a beeline straight for the alcohol table.

It’s not as lavish as the previous house, but it’s still a sizable amount of people. Due to the lack of space, it’s much, much hotter. In this house, there are probably just as many, if not more people than the last party. Wooyoung is already sweating.

Plucking a bottle of vodka out of the ice bin, he hoists himself onto the counter, immediately twisting the cap off and chugging at least two shots worth. With a grimace and a small cough, he sets the bottle down on the table, though his fingers hover around the base just in case someone tries to take it from him.

Well, that someone happens to be Yeosang, and he can’t really stop Yeosang.

“You shouldn’t hog all the alcohol, you know,” Yeosang scolds with a half smirk and intense, glittery eyes.

“Fuck you, it’s _one_ bottle.”

“I’m _exaggerating._ Something you should be very familiar with, no?” Yeosang chuckles and chugs from the bottle as well. Wooyoung counts three bobs of his Adam’s apple and sees only a faint wince. And just like that, Seonghwa appears by his side and takes the bottle too.

“What is this blasphemy?” Wooyoung shouts, throat scratchy from the alcohol. Maybe he should find some water too. Just in case.

“It’s a free country,” Seonghwa says with a shrug.

“It is most certainly not. No country is free from the bounds that humanity bestows upon itself. Corrupt governments, heinous crimes, slutty dickheads and sharks who shouldn’t be therapists. ‘Tis not a free country.” Seonghwa drinks maybe one shot from the bottle before Wooyoung snatches it back with a scowl. “And this is not a free bottle.”

“You’re acting drunk already, dude,” Yunho says, hopping up onto the table and digging his hand into the ice bin. He pulls out two cans of beer, tossing one of them to Mingi. “Can you not be a pretentious asshole for one night?”

“That would severely affect my reputation as ‘Slutty Dickhead,’” Wooyoung counters. “I must uphold it.”

Yunho rolls his eyes as he pops the tab. “Whatever.”

“Want anything, San?” Mingi asks his roommate.

“I’m alright.”

Wooyoung scoffs, though it’s inaudible over the music. The only thing illuminating the kitchen is a single light hanging above the sink. In the next two rooms over, dotted neon lights flash to the beat of the music, deafening as it is at any party. He checks the time, eleven o’clock. Hongjoong would be starting his show right about now.

“Hey, Woo,” Yunho says, grabbing his attention, “we’re gonna go mingle. Come find me if you’re too drunk to function.” Like a fucking pack, Mingi, Yeosang, and Seonghwa follow Yunho, leaving San behind.

“You’re not going with them?” Wooyoung asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Someone has to watch you.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes and takes San by the wrist, pulling him in the opposite direction of where the rest of them went. In this room, there’s a makeshift dance floor home to an enormous throng of drunk college students, with a few pairs and trios standing off near the walls. In this instance, when Yunho has abandoned him, he would insert himself into the group of people and wait for someone to approach him.

Except now, he doesn’t really feel like it.

With San by his side, he’d feel bad if he left San alone. Well, San could always go and join Yunho and the others.

“You sure you don’t want to go hang out with Yunho and Mingi?” Wooyoung says.

“I’d much rather be with you.”

Since _when_?

“Suit yourself,” Wooyoung concedes, wandering over to an unoccupied space at the corner of the room. San follows.

And because there isn’t anything else to do, Wooyoung links his arms around San’s neck and kisses him. Evidently startled, it takes San a few seconds to respond, ultimately settling for resting his hands on Wooyoung’s waist.

Something doesn’t feel right. And it’s not the vodka.

No, there’s something off about this party. Wooyoung doesn’t know what exactly, but it’s making his skin tingle in the worst way, like mud is oozing from his pores along with those pesky hornets jabbing their stingers into his skin. It’s hot, _too_ hot. Normally, Wooyoung would welcome it all in. Now, he’s just sweating uncomfortably and kissing San doesn’t feel good because of it.

When Wooyoung pulls away, San looks at him and frowns. “You okay?”

“I want to leave.”

“We haven’t even been here for an hour—”

“I want to leave,” Wooyoung repeats.

He doesn’t waver. He doesn’t wobble on his feet. His stomach is pleasantly warm from the alcohol but his mind is clear and his skin is ablaze. It stings, much like the smoke in his eyes. “I’m going to leave. You can stay if you want, I don’t really care.”

“Wooyoung, you can’t go alone. I’m not leaving you.”

“Then come with me. Whatever you want.”

And of course, San follows him outside where the winter air blasts them in the face and relieves them of the heat.

Wooyoung takes a deep breath, the icy chill of winter filling his lungs. He pushes it out. He isn’t drowning anymore.

“Are you okay?” San asks.

_“That question is so fucking pointless. As a public service announcement, whenever any of you are about to ask that question, try to remember that the answer will always be no.”_

“Yeah,” Wooyoung replies even though his eyes sting so badly that he wishes the hornets would gouge his eyes out. “I’m fine.”

✲

_“To all of my lovely listeners, thank you for tuning into the last show before break. I hope you all have an amazing time with whatever you do, whether it be spending time with family or working or just getting by. New year, new you. Don’t forget that.”_

Wooyoung chuckles. Hongjoong’s voice sounds a lot different over the radio.

_“It’s getting late, everybody. Well, for you. For me, my day has just begun. But for my fellow insomniacs, I hope this song will help you sleep. It’s an oldie, but goodie. Oh, it’s also in English. I tend to play a lot of English songs on my show, don’t I? Oh well. Maybe that’ll also help you sleep, ha.”_

Except Wooyoung doesn’t want to sleep right now.

After a cold shower to rinse away the sweat and grime of strangers’ pheromones, Wooyoung finds himself in San’s bed again—this time, with San’s head on his chest and one arm around his torso. San strokes his side with his thumb and nuzzles into his shoulder.

“I’m actually happy you wanted to leave,” the midnight-haired man says. “I… actually don’t like parties all that much.”

“That’s fair.”

“I’m surprised, though. What happened to the slutty dickhead party-goer Jung Wooyoung that I know?”

Wooyoung smirks and shrugs, San’s head bobbing with his shoulders. “I’m tired.”

“Are you, now?”

“Yeah.”

“Doubt it.”

San giggles before pulling himself up, one leg thrown over Wooyoung’s hip. From below, in the green-yellow-blue lights, San is nothing short of intimidating, but he smiles just as warmly.

Wooyoung feels small.

San leans down to kiss him, _familiar_ , except Wooyoung’s hands land on San’s thin waist, just as sculpted and defined as the rest of him.

When San’s lips meet his neck, he’s fucking done for.

He writhes in San’s hold, hips bucking up as he moans, but San, in all of his muscular glory, is able to pin him down easily, holding Wooyoung’s wrists right next to his head as he continues to work the most sensitive spot on his body.

“Your moans are so pretty,” San murmurs, tickling his skin like butterflies circling around his throat. “ _You’re_ so pretty.”

 _Why?_ Wooyoung wants to ask. He refrains, as there’s nothing much he can say when all he can manage are strangled moans. But he’ll let San say what he wants. If San thinks he’s pretty, then he’s pretty. He _is_ pretty good-looking.

But why does San keep telling him that?

Somehow, lying with San is only a gentle whirlpool, where his ship sails along calm waters. The occasional storm cloud passes overhead. But instead of being tied down, drowned, Wooyoung moves _with_ the water as San rocks into him, setting his skin on fire in a much different way.

With San inside him again, it’s familiar, but it’s different. Wooyoung can’t quite put his finger on why, exactly.

His head swims and his body floats. Yunho may have been able to make him come three times in one night, but San is able to rip a single orgasm from him that feels like a million. When the waves come crashing down on him, he welcomes them with open arms. Instead of swallowing him, they welcome him back and guide him back to shore.

“San,” Wooyoung says once the waves have ebbed away. His name tastes like salt water. He runs a thumb across San’s hipbone, down to his thigh. The wrinkles are still there. “What are these?”

There’s a defined line where the ocean meets the sand. The sand is one color, the water is another. There is no shallow or deep end. There is one vast blue and one endless beige. The waves ripple much like the marks on San’s thighs. Storms are brewing on both ends.

When Wooyoung is answered with silence, he isn’t entirely surprised. Hongjoong’s music continues in the background over the sound of the double-sided storm.

“I used to be really sad,” San finally says. “I’m sure you know what they are, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung nods, knowing that San can feel him do so. “It’s okay now, though. I’m okay now. I promise,” San says with conviction, fingers squeezing Wooyoung’s shoulder.

And for some reason, Wooyoung believes him.

The storms on both ends come to an agreement. Their swirling clouds shake hands, an unspoken treaty. Now at a stalemate, they continue to hover above their respective landscapes as they await tragedy once more.

✲

There are no hugs and teary goodbyes. However, there’s a collection of text messages Wooyoung receives from everyone, mostly things along the lines of “don’t die” and “try not to get eaten by sharks.” At least San has the consideration to add, “don’t be afraid to text me if you decide you wanna spend break together!”

 _Don’t be afraid._ Funny, Wooyoung thinks.

The journey back home is a train and bus ride equating to two whole hours. His aunt lives away from most of the civilization, though it’s not like he cares all that much. Blankets of snow cover every rooftop he can see, from suburban houses to abandoned buildings to massive shopping centers and car dealerships. He hops off the bus at one of the malls.

It doesn’t take much to appease his brother. After all, a kid who doesn’t grow up with much of anything won’t ask for much of anything.

_“Who’s your favorite, Kyungminie?”_

_“Pikachu! I know he’s everyone’s favorite but he’s my favorite too!”_

Wooyoung chuckles to himself as he waits in the obnoxiously long line at the toy store, wondering how long it took for Mingi to catch a Pikachu, or if he even did.

✲

Wooyoung’s aunt greets him with a hug so tight that he feels like a lemon having the juice squeezed out of it. In the middle of that, his little brother’s skittish footsteps approach them at the front door and his legs are immediately encased in the hold of a child. “Hyung! Hyung!” Kyungmin chirps gleefully, bouncing up and down as he squeezes Wooyoung’s legs. “Merry Christmas!”

“It’s not Christmas yet, bud,” Wooyoung says with a wide smile, ruffling his brother’s hair.

“How are you, sweetie?” his aunt asks once she finally releases him. Kyungmin, on the other hand, remains clinging to his legs like a koala.

“I’m alright. Glad to be done with the year.”

His aunt gives him one of those closed-mouthed hesitant smiles. The ones that people give him when they aren’t so sure about whether he’s telling the truth or not. His aunt gives him a lot of those, and when he thinks about it, San kind of does too.

“Do you want your mother to join us this year?”

The fact that she has to ask that makes the storm clouds churn. The answer has always been no. She’ll stay at home and Wooyoung will visit her _after_ he spends quality time with the people who haven’t abandoned him. He’s grateful that his aunt understands, but she grows warier each year, probably silently praying that Wooyoung will say yes.

“No, not really,” he barely whispers.

His aunt nods, lips pressed together. He glances down at his brother, whose face is buried in his thigh.

 _“It’s okay, hyung! I can see eomma whenever I want, so it’s okay if you don’t want to see her. I’m just happy to see_ you _!”_

Wooyoung can’t remember if he smiled as much as Kyungmin does when he was six. His childhood is, for the most part, distant memory, but he isn’t exactly sure if he’d even call it a memory. It’s there, but it isn’t. Just like that one night with San, it happened, but no matter how hard Wooyoung tries to remember, it’s as if the sharks have guzzled all his memories down into their stomachs, and it’s only a matter of time before they’re digested and shit back out into the ocean for Wooyoung to just _completely_ forget about.

He doesn’t know how his brother does it.

✲

Wooyoung doesn’t believe in God, but he thanks the Lord for his aunt. Having been absent most of his life, his mother rarely cooked for them, and if she did, she’d make a large batch of a single dish so they could chip away at it for a week before she cooked another one. If she was lazy, she’d give Wooyoung money to go buy whatever he and Kyungmin wanted. She’d give him a _lot_ , more than he needed, so he simply bought whatever was satisfactory to feed them and kept the rest for himself. She never even noticed.

Then again, she probably didn’t even care all that much.

That being said, he eats his aunt’s cooking until he can’t feel his body anymore, until his head is tilted back against the chair and the soft white light above him seems to undulate to the sound of some Christmas jingles. He would visit more if he could. He really, really would.

“Are you staying here for the new year?” his aunt asks.

“No,” Wooyoung answers, his bloated stomach pushing the word out. “I have work. Not to mention I have an apartment to cater to.”

“Will you be alone all that time?”

“No, one of my friends is coming to celebrate the new year with me. Don’t know what we’re gonna do, but… yeah, I won’t be alone.”

“That’s good, honey. Who’s your friend? Is it Yunho?”

“No, it’s a new friend. His name is San.”

“Ah, San. What a lovely name.” She stands up to collect the plates and utensils. “Wooyoung-ah, you can turn in whenever you like. I’m sure the ride back here was exhausting.”

Maybe it was, Wooyoung thinks. He’s not sure. Who knows, he could hit his pillow and fall asleep instantly, or he could lie awake for hours upon hours and draw doodles into the guest bedroom’s ceiling. The only difference is that the ceiling is completely smooth. Wooyoung would have to trace his own drawings this time.

He does one of those things, but when it happens, he isn’t paying attention. His cold, wet hair clings to his forehead in clumps. He’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants and the ceiling is flat. Hongjoong’s radio show isn’t playing in the background, and it’s getting hard to breathe again.

✲

With a new plushie added to his collection, Kyungmin giggles as he runs around the living room, one hand holding Pikachu and the other holding Mewtwo (it makes Wooyoung think of Mingi). The two stuffed Pokémon duke it out in some aerial battle even though Wooyoung is pretty damn sure Pikachu can’t fly, with Kyungmin adding both narration, dialogue, and sound effects.

As annoying as it is, it’s also endearing.

“Merry Christmas, Wooyoung-ah.” His aunt slides a gift bag in his direction. It’s white like the ceiling. “I’m sorry this isn’t much.”

“It’s okay.” And Wooyoung means it. He smirks, thinking that Yunho is probably getting a new car or a watch that costs more than their apartment or some other otherworldly expensive item. All the while, what Wooyoung pulls out from the forest of tissue paper is a journal and an eight-pack of multicolored gel pens.

“I know you used to love writing,” his aunt says. _Did he?_ “And I remember at one point you mentioned that you really like the way gel pens feel on paper, so I got you some.”

How is it that everyone else _but_ him can remember these things?

“Thank you,” Wooyoung says. The journal is striped just like a zebra. Black and white. The pens are a stark contrast, being the six colors of the standard rainbow (fuck indigo) along with one black and one glittery pink one. No brown. He’ll have to draw his desert in red, orange, and yellow.

Noticing his confusion, his aunt says, “Are you okay, Wooyoung-ah?”

“Just… when did I like writing?”

“Oh, um… you were in middle school, I believe. Thirteen? Fourteen? You kept this journal and carried it everywhere. I don’t know what you wrote in it, but it was obviously very important to you since you carried it wherever you went.”

“Did I?”

“Do you not remember?”

Wooyoung shuts his eyes until his vision explodes in black dots. “I’m having a hard time remembering a lot of things, imo. I don’t know why.”

“Did you hit your head? Get a concussion?”

Wooyoung shakes his head. At least he’s aware of that. But now that his aunt mentioned it, maybe he did carry a journal at one point. A black leather-bound one that was five centimeters thick. Inside were lines and scratches of angry red and blue and black ink, whatever pens Wooyoung could find in the kitchen drawer. He’d sneak downstairs when he was supposed to be sleeping because his mother got angry whenever the pens weren’t in place. His mother would be asleep. He would wake up before his mother and put the pens back and get ready for school.

“I sort of remember now. I don’t know what happened to it, though.” He turns the journal over as if it would have something on the back. Of course there’s nothing.

“Perhaps it’s good that you don’t have that journal anymore. With this one, you can start anew.”

Wooyoung doesn’t remember what was in that journal, but he’s certain it wasn’t sharks and deserts and corpses. Maybe his aunt is right. With this new one, he has two hundred blank pages at his disposal where he can draw and write all about his absurd scenarios.

Will he actually do it? Maybe.

The universe is quite unpredictable. For all Wooyoung knows, this journal could end up just as lost and gone as his old one. Maybe he’ll somehow accidentally set it on fire. Maybe he’ll throw it off a cliff.

But looking down at his only Christmas gifts, he figures he has to save them from drowning. He has to remember them.

 _“But this is what you have, Wooyoung. An aunt and a little brother who you so clearly care about. Hold onto_ them _. They will save you from the sharks.”_

Over the sound of Kyungmin imitating Pikachu’s cries, Wooyoung can hear the proud smile of his aunt.

 _“I’m so proud of you, Wooyoung-ah. Please remember that I’m only one phone call away. If you_ ever _need anything, please let me know and I’ll do what I can. You’re smart and strong and so, so brave. Please remember that.”_

Wooyoung doesn’t know if he’s any of those things. But hey, at least he remembers.

✲

**[sanshine]**

_heyyyy how was your christmas_

_get anything good_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_oh yeah totally, my single aunt and little brother bought me a fuckin ferrari_

_livin the good life_

**[sanshine]**

_oh sweet can i drive it???_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_sure, just let me magically send you into the pages of my newly acquired journal_

_in which i drew said ferrari_

_and which also happens to be what i got for christmas_

**[sanshine]**

_what??? you only got a journal for christmas???_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_and some rainbow gel pens. pretty cool if u ask me_

**[sanshine]**

_oh shit u know i’m a sucker for gel pens_

_but seriously. all you got was a journal and some gel pens?_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_yeah_

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

_i literally don’t care that i didn’t get much_

_it’s the thought that counts_

_but anyway what did you get?_

**[sanshine]**

_my parents got me a new camera and some film_

_also some money from my other relatives but yeah no fancy sports cars_

_not all of us can be jeong yunho_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_oh yeah ur a photography major lol_

_well that’s cool_

_also we all WISH we could be jeong yunho lol he has a big dick_

**[sanshine]**

_doesn’t surprise me, he has an insane amount of bde it’s not even funny_

_and hey, ur dick is pretty good, solid 7/10_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_that’s actually the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me_

_ur dick is also pretty good, solid… uh, 7/10 too_

**[sanshine]**

_good to know!_

_anyway i’ll talk to u later, hanging with the family rn_

_see you in a few days :)_

_i don’t think i formally said so, but merry belated christmas, jung wooyoung_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_ditto, choi san_

✲

The snow has completely melted. In a way, Wooyoung is grateful, because at least now he and San can set off their fireworks without having to worry about them being snuffed out by frozen water. On the contrary, now, because the grass is dry and dead, they might set fire to the ground. Oh well.

San shows up to his door with two bottles of champagne, a box of sparklers, an assortment of fireworks, and a mischievous grin. “Who’s ready to commit arson?” he asks with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Wooyoung snorts and steps aside to let San in. Being winter, it’s already dark outside at five in the evening, but they have time to kill before San takes him to this ‘mystery location’ where they’ll have their little fireworks show. San swears on his cameras that it’s secluded enough where they wouldn’t get noticed, and he also raises the pretty valid point that people will probably be too drunk or too caught up in festivities to care.

In any case, if Wooyoung does have a run in with the cops over this, at least his fate will finally catch up with him.

After a casual dinner at a nearby convenience store, at ten o’clock sharp, San takes Wooyoung by the hand back onto the university campus where stringed lights are still hung lamppost to lamppost despite there being nobody to admire them.

“This was where I watched you eat the pavement’s face, remember?” San laughs, Wooyoung’s hand in his as they run down the pathway where Wooyoung did indeed have a pretty intimate encounter with the ground. He remembers. And as annoyed San made him that day, he finds himself smiling now.

Over stone walls and winding pathways, San takes Wooyoung to an open field somewhere just outside the campus. Wooyoung had no idea such a place existed, nor had he even fathomed it since their university is smack dab in the middle of actual civilization. When Wooyoung thinks about it, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen anything remotely rural in his life.

As if on cue, San says, “I grew up in farm country. Moving here was a pretty huge change, so one of the first things I did when I got here was walk around to see if I could find anywhere that reminded me of home, and, well, you can’t get any more rural than a wide open field.”

Maybe a little too open, Wooyoung thinks. Though the ground is flat and the space is wide, there isn’t much to obscure them from sight.

“Come on.” San kneels on the grass, unzipping his backpack and pulling out a fucking blanket.

“Thought we were just gonna set off fireworks,” Wooyoung says.

“We’ve got, like, two hours until midnight. We have time to kill.”

Wooyoung chuckles. At midnight, a clock strikes twelve, killing the poor number and splattering firework blood all over the nation. He sits cross-legged on San’s blanket as San splays out on his stomach and continues to fiddle with the contents of his backpack before pulling out one of the bottles of champagne and two red plastic cups.

“You know, I never thought I’d be spending a new year like this,” San says.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done anything for New Years,” Wooyoung replies, picking at the dead grass surrounding the blanket.

“My family is pretty big, so we’d have these unnecessarily big get togethers at my aunt and uncle’s place in Busan. Everyone gets drunk off their asses, karaoke, lots of good food.”

“Must be nice.”

San shrugs. “Eh, I’d usually just hang out in my cousin’s room and we’d play video games until our parents yell at us to join them for the countdown. But yeah, it’s nice.”

Wooyoung nods and rests his chin on the tip of the champagne bottle. The starless sky is commiserating with him, he feels. With no stars, it seems as if they will have to create their own.

As glad Wooyoung is to have someone joining him for such a useless occasion, he can’t help but feel a little blue. Blue like the ocean that tends to love his suffering. He glances up and around. No bugs. Nothing. Just a vast, open space, San, and the reminder that he’s lived another year. When the clock strikes midnight, he will have lived for twenty-two years.

He doesn’t know if he should be happy or sad about that.

“So what have you been thinking about lately?” San asks him.

“The usual. Sharks, open waters, the S.S. Suffering, deserts… nothing particularly new.”

“Do these thoughts come to you on a random basis?”

“It’s kind of a constant thing, but my brain just kind of builds off of what exists already, I guess. Hongjoong gave me this weird but interesting exercise where he gave me three words and asked me to come up with a scenario.”

“Ooh, that sounds cool! Can I?” San asks oddly excitedly, to which Wooyoung just nods. “Okay, so, since it’s New Years… fireworks, champagne, and the number twelve.”

“One step ahead of you. When the clock strikes midnight, a clock _literally_ strikes the number twelve with those really pointy hands, you know, the ones you’d see in a grandfather clock or something. The twelve bursts into firework blood, and humans all over the Earth celebrate the occasion with their glasses of champagne ready to raise a toast to the death of a number that will be reborn time and time again. The true meaning behind the New Years celebration.”

San instantly smiles and rolls over onto his back right beside Wooyoung’s knee. Under the silver moonlight, his face appears tinted blue. Just like the ocean. “You’re crazy, Wooyoung. I like that about you.”

“Crazy, huh?”

“You’re the one calling yourself a slutty dickhead. Don’t tell me you draw the line at crazy.”

“Point taken.”

Smiles upon smiles, Wooyoung glances down as San rests his head on his thigh, remembering what lies just beneath those black skinny jeans of his. “Hey, San,” he says, voice tip-toeing, “can I… can I ask you about those, uh… those?” He points over San’s head in the direction of his legs.

“Oh. I figured you’d want to know about them eventually.” San lets out a heavy sigh. “Well, it started my first year of high school. I don’t know what caused it, honestly. I just got really depressed sometimes. I’d look in the mirror and hate everything I saw. I couldn’t go a day without thinking about what things would be like if I weren’t around. I wasn’t suicidal or anything… but there were definitely some days where I thought about dying.”

Wooyoung can relate.

“I was terrified. I knew something was wrong with me. Like, I know I have a loving family who cares about me, I had a pretty good social life at school, good grades, did a lot of extracurriculars, but it was like… I felt like everything was pointless. I was so sad and had no reason to be sad. And then I’d take it out on myself by doing _that._ And then I’d feel guilty. And the cycle would repeat. Just an endless cycle of guilt and sadness.”

“So you were depressed for no reason?”

“That’s what it felt like,” San says, closing his eyes. “I know I’m a very fortunate person. I know that I’m privileged, that I have a lot of things other people don’t have. And I was still sad, I still hated myself. Maybe I was comparing myself to others too much, or maybe I felt like I needed to be better and belittled my own efforts, I don’t know. But I was depressed pretty much all throughout high school, and when I finally told my parents about it, they had me go to therapy, and while that did help, I did a lot of introspection and self-help. I dug myself out of that hole, for the most part. Sometimes, there are still traces.”

“Traces?”

“There are still some days where I hate myself,” San admits, hushed as if his demons would haunt him again. They’re taunting him from below, from what Wooyoung can imagine. “I know I’ve worked hard to get to where I am today. I value my efforts and the things I’ve done. And while I don’t cut myself anymore, there are still some days where I look at myself and think that I’m not good enough.”

 _But you are_ , Wooyoung wants to say. Something is chomping down on his tongue. It might be the sharks, maybe the vampire bats. Sucking all the blood out of his tongue, desiccating it, rendering him speechless. He remains silent.

“Even just talking about it makes me sound stupid,” San says humorlessly with a scoff. “It’s the endless cycle of guilt. I get down on myself, feel guilty for getting down on myself, and then get down on myself again for feeling guilty.”

“A neverending whirlpool,” Wooyoung murmurs.

“There are a lot of ways people handle pain. For me… I think I internalize it. But because I acknowledge my pain, I feel like I can be of help to others, you know? I always try my best to make sure others are happy, even at the expense of my own happiness. Sometimes I feel like… I care a lot about others because I don’t care all that much for myself.”

 _You should_ , Wooyoung wants to say. But the predators are relentless and his throat is drier than the desert. He’s being blinded by the stars that aren’t even present and distracted by those inconvenient fireworks. He wants to open his mouth and say something useful for once.

“But… yeah. Sorry if I brought the mood down.” San chuckles lightly.

“N-no, it’s fine. You didn’t.”

For some reason, Wooyoung feels like _he_ is the one who did.

One thing is for sure. At least Choi San means something. At least he’s on a mostly established path, knows what he values and what he wants to do. At least he has a large family that he gets to celebrate with. At least his parents are still together and love him despite his struggles. At least he can swim, he has a bottomless canister of water, and he knows taekwondo in case he needs to wrestle with the sharks.

Well, it appears that many things are for sure. But Wooyoung doesn’t say any of it.

✲

“Here,” San says, handing Wooyoung one of the sparklers. “You ever held one of these before?”

“Nope,” Wooyoung responds as San flicks the lighter. He watches, unafraid, as San holds the flame to the end of the rod. In mere seconds, a spark ignites, and the sparkler bursts to life. It crackles as the mini fireworks spew out in all sorts of directions, lighting up San’s face as he reaches back into his bag and pulls out a camera.

“Hold it just as you’re holding it right now,” San instructs, fidgeting with the device. “I’m gonna take a picture, okay?”

“Alright,” Wooyoung says, thoroughly amused as the tiny firework continues to sparkle in front of him. He smiles unknowingly, unaware of the flash of San’s camera. His vision is being overwhelmed anyway, from the sparkler to the flash to Choi San _taking a picture of him._

Wooyoung can’t remember the last time anyone’s taken a picture of him. Well, excluding school picture days, but he doesn’t remember those either.

“Think you can hold two?” San asks teasingly, pulling out another stick and handing it to Wooyoung.

As the light from the first sparkler begins to dwindle, San lights the second one and immediately resumes the pseudo photoshoot. Wooyoung doesn’t even bother posing; he simply holds the sparklers as they shine, occasionally waving them around, laughing as he imagines his hair catching on fire.

Upon hearing Wooyoung laugh, San laughs too, their sounds of amusement blending with the cracking sounds of the sparks.

“Amazing. Spectacular,” San says, setting his camera down and applauding. “Now come on, we have some _actual_ fireworks to set off.”

Wooyoung has never touched, let alone seen consumer fireworks like this. He lets San do most of the assembly and placement as he spreads them out in a line. Wooyoung counts ten.

“Ten for the last ten seconds of the countdown,” San explains. Wooyoung checks his phone. 11:57. “Keep a close eye on the clock. Oh, and pour some champagne.”

“This is so classy,” Wooyoung jokes, popping the cork and letting the fizz splatter onto the ground before sloppily pouring themselves two cups of champagne.

“Obviously the fireworks aren’t going to go off just like _that_ , but I thought it would be a cool thing to do.”

“Have you set off fireworks like this before?”

“Nope!”

Wooyoung’s mouth drops open. “What the fuck?”

“What? I wanted to do something nice for you this New Years. Thought this could be a fun learning experience for the both of us. And hey, if this all goes to shit and we end up burning ourselves or catching on fire, at least we know not to do this anymore!”

“You’re crazy, San.”

“Touché, Wooyoung.” San winks in his direction.

Wooyoung pulls up a countdown timer on his phone, watching as the numbers tick by while he waits with San, crouched down beside the first firework. With his trusty lighter, San is grinning as he peeks at the screen.

_Ten._

He lights the first one, and Wooyoung stands up to allow him room to run.

_Nine._

A second one is lit, but the first doesn’t go off quite yet.

_Eight._

Wooyoung is smiling.

_Seven._

“Holy shit!” San shouts as the first firework shoots up into the blank sky. It whistles as it ascends, traveling who knows how far up before bursting.

_Six._

Wooyoung nearly stumbles as San keeps running. The second firework launches.

_Five._

Wooyoung cranes his neck upwards to see the fireworks mingling with each other, creating their own stars, their own marks on the open, empty sky. It’s beautiful.

_Four._

“Move! Move!” San exclaims, laughing in between. Wooyoung staggers backwards as he struggles to keep his view above him, watching with an open mouth as the makeshift fireworks show manifests before him.

_Three._

At this point, Wooyoung isn’t sure how accurate San is being in accordance with the time, but it’s not like it matters anymore. As the previously lit fireworks are dispatched up to the sky, Wooyoung can only watch.

_Two._

Wooyoung falls backwards on his ass, landing on the frozen ground with a thump, but he’s laughing so hard his stomach hurts.

_One._

He’s laughing so fucking hard, his cup of champagne having flown out of his hand upon impact, spilling and seeping into the ground. The grass is already dead, he figures.

But then Choi San collides with him, landing square on top of him with an “oof!” His champagne spills too, meeting Wooyoung’s under the inactive soil. With San on top of him, Wooyoung watches the last firework blast into the sky, bursting a mixture of gold and blue before San’s face appears right in front of him.

“San… you missed them,” he says, completely breathless.

“That’s okay,” San says. “I’m just glad _you_ got to see them.”

Smiling. San is smiling. But Wooyoung swears this is the widest smile San has ever worn.

“Happy new year, Wooyoung,” San whispers before leaning in.

A firework of his own explodes in his chest as sharks swim around in his stomach. His mouth is dry, his head and chest and stomach hurt, but it’s never felt so good.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” San says against his lips.

Wooyoung opens his eyes and sees a purple gemstone just beneath San’s left.

✲

Everything is exploding.

Fireworks. The desert is caving in. The ocean is somehow swallowing itself, sharks and cruises and all. A vicious storm is coalescing all one thousand umbrellas and lifting a train off the ground. Poor Yunho and Yeosang are having their picnic interrupted. Wooyoung’s therapist is long gone.

They don’t even make it to the bed. They collapse onto San’s couch, lips and tongues moving feverishly against each other as San climbs onto Wooyoung’s lap and straddles him.

“Wooyoung,” San gasps, “let me ride you.”

Wooyoung pulls away and frowns, confused. “What?”

“I said, let me ride you.” San attacks his neck, knowing all too well that it will get him to shut up under normal circumstances.

But these are far from normal circumstances. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

“I… um, okay.”

“What? What’s the matter?” San asks, pulling away from Wooyoung’s neck instantly.

“Nothing, I just… um, I’ve never…”

San looks at him expectantly. “I’ve never… been on the giving end,” he finally admits.

“You’ve… never topped?” San questions. Wooyoung nods shamefully. “Wow. I, uh, definitely wouldn’t have guessed.”

Wooyoung sighs. “I-I mean, I’m not _opposed_ to it. It’s just how it is. I usually bottom. It’s… easier, I guess.”

Yes. Wooyoung remembers. It’s easier for him to lose control, to let someone take it from him because he _can’t be bothered._

But now, when San is _wanting_ to do this for him, who is he to decline?

“So… do you not want me to?” San asks.

“No, definitely no. I mean, no, uh, I want you to. Yes. I want you to.”

San giggles and leans in again. “Cute, Wooyoung. You’re cute.”

And crazy. And weird. And a slutty dickhead. But Wooyoung forgoes all of the possibilities for now because San has his legs spread for him and there’s lube coating his fingers and he’s about to open someone up who isn’t himself.

San guides him through it, telling him what feels good and what doesn’t. And, unlike the first time, San lets him know when he’s ready, _actually_ ready, because San isn’t a slutty dickhead and even though he claims not to care for himself all that much, Wooyoung can see that he really does.

Because if San doesn’t care all that much for himself, what does that make Wooyoung?

When San finally sinks down on his cock, Wooyoung’s head and eyes both roll back as the two let out a simultaneous moan. “Fuck,” San grunts, “it’s been a while.”

“It’s been… never.” Wooyoung chuckles, San following suit.

San moves his hips in the most sinful ways, Wooyoung learns, but perhaps it’s to be expected from someone with exceptional athletic capabilities. His cock stands straight up, leaning against his stomach as Wooyoung reaches for it, jerking it in time with San’s movements. “Oh f-fuck, Wooyoung.”

“Is it okay?” Wooyoung asks.

“More than okay,” San reassures with another fucking smile.

In a way, Wooyoung is still relinquishing control. San bounces on his cock, rotating his hips in ways that make every single scenario in Wooyoung’s mind irrelevant right now, where all he can focus on is _San_ , the man who asked him if he was okay, the man who told him that he was strange and crazy, the man who made a firework ignite in his chest.

San with the purple gemstone and treasure map neck. With the most heartwarming smile and welcoming eyes and shimmering midnight hair.

“Wooyoung, ‘m gonna come,” San moans, and Wooyoung snaps back to reality, that being that San is leaking all over his hand, and within the next few seconds, his come splashes up onto his stomach, painting his abs white. His skin is sheen with sweat and come, shown even beneath the soft light of his living room.

In this light, Wooyoung can clearly see the scars now, ranging from dark browns to just above his natural skin tone.

Wooyoung grabs San’s hips, slamming him down onto his cock and thrusting upward. San’s back arches as his hands barely balance themselves on Wooyoung’s knees, keening at Wooyoung’s sudden vigor. “Fuck, Wooyoung, _yes_!” he screams into the empty apartment.

Wooyoung doesn’t think he’s ever loved hearing his own name. Somehow, San is the exception.

Spilling into the condom, Wooyoung pulls San in by the shoulders and kisses him again, sliding his tongue inside. His mouth is no longer dry, having been rejuvenated on the way back to San’s apartment, when San held his hand the entire way and didn’t let go. Where the firework in his chest burst and spilled water and vitality back into his body. San wraps his arms around Wooyoung’s neck, shuddering.

“I hope that was a good first time,” San says with a laugh in his tone.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung pants. “It was.”

San pulls away and faces him, _smiling_. “Good, because I’m expecting you to _top_ me text time. You hear?”

Wooyoung can’t help but burst out laughing.

_“He’s the only one who can make you smile like that.”_

Wooyoung blinks slowly, imagining his eyes as the shutter of San’s camera, and snaps a photo of San with his hair slicked with sweat, in utter bliss, _smiling_ , because this time around, he doesn’t want to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmMMMM
> 
> i'm honestly so tired my head hurts and i just wanna sleep for a while lol but i hope u enjoyed :)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)


	5. tired world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just don’t understand… why you’re so nice.”
> 
> San sighs heavily, shimmying down until his head is near level with Wooyoung’s. Graceful fingers tenderly run along his jaw before turning it towards him. “Wooyoung, I’m just being me,” San says.
> 
> “And I don’t get why someone like you would want to be friends with someone like me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for mentions of familial neglect, drunkenness with a minor vomit mention, a panic attack, and discussions of suicide

_A few nights ago, I celebrated the new year with this guy. His name is San. I met him a while back, sometime in the fall. Right, it was fall, because it was right after midterms when I met him. He’s weirdly nice to me. I don’t really understand why. Really, he should just be another Yunho and Yeosang, people who put up with my shit because they can’t be bothered to actually care all that much about me. Which is fine. They’re cool, civil people. And I don’t blame them for probably thinking I’m one of the most annoying people on this god forsaken planet._

_It’s fine, though. I’m completely aware that I’m annoying, but I guess that says something about them. They have a high tolerance for bullshit and an absurd amount of patience. If I were friends with me, I’d punch me in the face. But I guess that says something about me, which is that I am not a patient person and maybe I kind of don’t really care about what happens to my face._

_I mean, I don’t care about a lot of things, so._

_But yeah, San and I hung out for the new year. It was his idea, actually. He set off these fireworks even though he’d never done it before. It was pretty. And then he was running and he fell on top of me when I was watching the fireworks and the entire time he wasn’t watching them. Isn’t that kind of pointless? Like, he bought those fireworks so we could watch them together, but he was too busy setting them off and running to light the next one to watch them go off._

_Oh well. The rest of the night was fun. He asked to ride me, which I said yes to even though I’ve never actually fucked a guy. It felt really good, but sex with San is always amazing. Just because I was on the other end doesn’t mean it wasn’t good. It was just different._

_I don’t really understand why he wants to do all of these things for me, but it’s not like I can stop him. Even though he just left to spend the rest of winter break with his family, he kept insisting on coming back to spend it with me. I told him I don’t care, that I’m fine on my own. I am. I’m fine on my own. Yeah, it’ll be a little boring, but I’ll get through it. I have this new journal and these gel pens write really nicely. God, I fucking love gel pens._

_San has done enough for me, so I told him not go come back to see me for the rest of winter break. He needs to go spend time with his family. They want him around. They love him._

_I actually forgot to see my mother this year. I guess my mind was so set on coming back here that I forgot to pay her a visit before I left. Oh well. Even when I do visit her, we don’t really talk. So I guess it’s okay that I didn’t see her this year._

_I’m going to actually try to use this journal. According to my aunt, I used to have one in high school, but I have no clue what happened to it. She said that “perhaps it’s good that I don’t have that journal anymore,” and it makes me wonder what its contents were._

_But here’s to starting anew, I guess._

✲

Wooyoung is so fucking bored.

He should’ve expected this. Well, he expected to be bored, but not this bored. When he’s not working, he’s doing absolutely nothing. The most exciting thing that happens is that he gets his schedule for the next semester. Whoop-dee-doo.

He misses Hongjoong’s show. He would text him, but he’s too lazy and too bored to even do that. He would text anybody, even San, but he figures that they’re all having a blast, a wild fucking party on the S.S. Suffering while he’s outside, leaning against the railing about to throw up from boredom.

As the days travel nausea-inducing terrain, Wooyoung spends the days he doesn’t have work staring up at the ceiling in his bedroom. One night, he’s drawing into the fissures when he remembers he actually has shit to draw with now.

Drawing with gel pens might be slightly unconventional, not to mention he feels like he shouldn’t be _coloring_ with them because it’s a waste of precious ink, but at least the drawings are _there_ , on a tangible surface, visible to the human eye. Much like the shark drawing he never finished, he draws the S.S. Suffering sailing intricate waves while stick figures representing his friends party it up on board.

He doesn’t know how long he stares at the drawing for while debating where to put his stick figure. His eyes are getting pretty tired anyway, so he just closes it up for the night and figures he’ll draw himself in there tomorrow.

He _really_ misses Hongjoong’s show. He’s so fucking tired, but doesn’t get a lick of sleep because the music isn’t there to distract him from his thoughts.

✲

Wooyoung gets a call from an unknown number at ten o’clock at night.

“Hello?”

“Wooyoung-ah.”

The waters freeze.

“Oh… eomma. Hi.”

Right. He hasn’t saved her number.

“I missed you, honey,” his mother says, the illusion of her voice from the phone making it hard to distinguish a tone. “Why didn’t you come to visit this year?”

Wooyoung bites the inside of his mouth.

He doesn’t hate his mother. He swears he doesn’t.

He just hates to see her because it reminds him of someone he _does_ hate.

“I’m sorry, I… had other plans. Had to meet a friend back up here.”

“Ah. Your aunt did mention something about that. What’s his name?”

“San.” His name doesn’t sound pretty in that instance, but his mother calls it pretty anyway.

“I’m glad you’re making friends, Wooyoung-ah.”

Wooyoung’s teeth feel like thorns of a poisoned rose injecting venom into his bloodstream. They restrict flow to his fingers as they tighten around his phone while he awaits the words he’s heard plenty of times in the past.

In fact, he mouths them as soon as he hears them.

“Just be careful, okay?”

_“Your friends could always hurt you,” she’d said after he’d just gotten back from a peaceful game of basketball with the boys who never did._

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says dismissively. He doesn’t mean to sound rude, but he just really wants to sleep. Or get drunk first.

Definitely get drunk first.

“Well, hopefully I’ll see you soon. I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, eomma.”

Wooyoung doesn’t hesitate to hang up. He feels like he might throw up.

Before he can, he rummages through the fridge to find a half empty bottle of vodka and downs two shots in one go, and all is well again.

✲

The room positively swirls above him. Phantom lyrics of Hongjoong’s favorite songs echo in his eardrums while he counts his fingers. At one point, he counts eleven and thinks _wait, that’s not right._ So he counts again, gets ten, and laughs until he can’t breathe.

“Hello?”

“Sannie!” Wooyoung exclaims, followed by a giggle and a hiccup. “Whatcha doing?”

“Um… I’m just hanging out in my room right now.” There’s a short pause as Wooyoung continues to titter at nothing. “Wooyoung-ah, are you drunk?”

“Maaaybe,” Wooyoung drawls, tongue rolling out before he blows a raspberry. He laughs again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Okay. Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m home, don’t worry about that. You’re too nice, Sannie, always watching over me and shit.” Wooyoung squeals and rolls over, kicking his feet in the air like a teenage girl who’s just found out her feelings are reciprocated.

San sighs. “Are you alone?”

“Yeah! But when aren’t I, you know? Ha!”

Wooyoung can’t stop laughing even though the waves are relentless and he might actually throw up from how seasick he’s getting.

“Think I’m gonna be seasick,” he says, laughter coming to an abrupt halt as he stumbles out of bed.

He brings the phone with him, accidentally hitting the speaker phone button as his face lands in the toilet. He doesn’t know how long he retches for (he doesn’t know _a lot_ right now), but not once does he hear the four tones signaling the end of a phone call.

When he’s finished, spitting the rest of the bile into the poor bowl, his head lands with a thump against the side of the counter. “You done?” San asks.

“Yunho’s dealt with this before. Should’ve called him instead of you,” Wooyoung mutters. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” San says reassuringly.

The room is still spinning and the whirlpool is still accelerating, but at least San is sort of here.

“Please, if you can, drink some water and eat something,” San advises.

Wooyoung scoffs. “You’re not my mother.”

He scoffs again before laughing again. “Fucking hell, Sannie! I’m so pathetic aren’t I?”

“Wooyoung, what—”

“My mother! She’s why I’m like this right now. I… fuckin’ forgot to visit her after I left my aunt’s, and she called me, like, a few hours ago. And _fuck_ her, honestly. Can’t fucking stand her. Out of all the times she could call me, why wait until after some bullshit holiday? Why can’t she even call me on my _birthday_ , huh?”

San doesn’t respond, so Wooyoung fills the silence with more word vomit.

“And you know what she said? She said, ‘just be careful.’ Do you know how many times she’s said that to me? It’s always, ‘be careful, people will hurt you,’ so I always just smile and nod and tell her okay. And she’ll tell me she loves me and I’ll tell her I love her back. You know what, San? I’m so fucking done being _careful._ I don’t give a _shit_ about what happens to me.”

“Wooyoung, please.” San’s voice sounds desperate for some reason. Wooyoung can’t even begin to fathom why. “Don’t… don’t say that.”

“She’s such a fucking hypocrite! It’s… it’s always, ‘I’m so glad you’re making friends, but be careful because they’ll hurt you!’ What kind of bullshit is that? Does she want me to make friends or not? Or does she want me to end up like some miserable hag like her?”

“Wooyoung.” San sounds about ready to sob. “Please, just… hang in there, okay? I’m… I’m coming over.”

“You’re with your family, though, aren’t you?” Wooyoung slurs, face hovering over the bowl again. “How far away do you live, anyway?”

“That doesn’t matter right now, Wooyoung. I’m coming over.”

Wooyoung scoffs, only to end up gagging to no avail. There’s nothing left in him.

“Fucking fine.”

He hangs up the call and lets his head slump on the toilet’s rim.

He gives up.

✲

There’s got to be a cruise out there somewhere. Probably in the southern hemisphere because it’s winter here now.

A constant summer. Wooyoung can’t even begin to imagine. Harsh sun rays beating down on the partygoers on deck, so hot that even their sweat is being evaporated. Sunburn rates increase tenfold at ten times the speed. Everyone is screaming.

 _“It’s a lovely day, isn’t it, Wooyoungie?”_ San asks casually, eyes masked by sunglasses with blue circular lenses. Wooyoung can see his reflection in them, and he’s on fire. _“They don’t call it the S.S. Suffering for nothing, eh?”_

San lets out a dreamlike sigh and shields his eyes with his hand. _“It’s an infinite loop, a continuous whirlpool. It’s never gonna stop. Smooth sailing is impossible, you know. No matter how much you try to convince yourself. The waters might calm down at some times, but it’s always gonna get bad again._ You’re _always gonna get bad again, and you have no one else but yourself to blame for that.”_

Wooyoung would respond if his skin wasn’t being burned to a crisp.

 _“So don’t even bother trying to convince yourself he likes you. Who would actually_ like _you? You’re so fucking annoying. Seriously, why don’t you just jump off of this ship right now? At least you’ll put yourself out before you ultimately drown.”_

San is behind him all the way to the plank. When he looks down at his hands, they’re engulfed in flames.

_“Just jump, Wooyoung-ah. I’m here for you.”_

So he does.

The ocean does nothing but reduce the blistering heat to a warm simmer. It feels like somewhat of an embrace, but just like San said, it’s not going to last, and it’s just going to get bad again.

Wooyoung succumbs to the whirlpool when it reaches his body.

✲

There’s a stranger in Wooyoung’s bed. It’s on its side, shadow only _just_ visible in the dull glow of the moonlight filtering through his curtains. He blinks, temples throbbing and splattering purple into his vision. He’s too fucking tired for this shit.

If the stranger stabs him in his sleep, at least it’ll get the job done.

He closes his eyes again. He’ll deal with it in the morning.

✲

Wooyoung wakes up to the smell of food and a glass of water on his nightstand. His throat being drier than the Sahara isn’t an unfamiliar sensation since he’s had plenty of nights where the gorgeous alcohol-soaked sun absorbs every single ounce of moisture in his body. Underneath the glass of water is a note that reads, _‘Don’t know where your painkillers are, so here’s some water. -San”_

San?

Wooyoung tries to say his name, but it comes out as some sort of animalistic squeak. He downs the glass of water like his life and sanity depends on it, which may very well be the case.

Dragging himself out of bed, he wades through fetid swamps and decaying daisies to get to his kitchen, where a very nonchalant San is cooking breakfast, sunglasses-free.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Treasure Map Neck says without turning around.

“The hell are you doing here?” Wooyoung grumbles.

“Damn, I traveled two whole hours to get here, texted Yunho asking where he hides the spare key, carried you to your bed after you passed out on your bathroom floor, gave you a glass of water, I’m currently making breakfast for you, and _that’s_ how you greet me?” San lets out a laugh that is probably sarcastic. “I’m offended.”

Wooyoung plops down on one of the kitchen island stools and his head crashes to the counter with a sad thud. “Why the hell’d you do all that?”

“Because I wanted to.”

Wooyoung narrows his eyes, not like San can see it. “I don’t fucking get you, San.”

“You don’t have to,” San says mirthfully. “I kinda like being a mystery to you. God knows you’re one to me, too.”

The sizzling of whatever San’s making vaguely resembles the sound of Wooyoung’s crackling skin when he was on fire for those few moments on the S.S. Suffering, but instead of smelling burning flesh, he smells something sweet and savory. “What are you making?” he asks.

“Pancakes, of course. Probably the only breakfast food I’m good at making. Well, besides eggs and bacon.”

“Do we even have the ingredients?”

“Nope! Went grocery shopping before you woke up. You know, even though Yunho is loaded, it doesn’t seem like you guys spend a lot of money on actual nutritious sustenance .”

“Life’s too short,” Wooyoung mumbles.

“Mm, I feel like you can only use that phrase so much before it starts to become an excuse to avoid the simplest tasks in life.” Something lands in front of him with a clank. “Now eat up, don’t make my hard work go to waste.”

Wooyoung is squinting when he raises his head, only to be greeted with none other than Choi San, wearing that same dumb smile, still sunglasses-free. There’s a plate in front of him, two pancakes, two eggs, and three slices of bacon. “San, in case you forgot, I am hungover and will probably throw all of this up if I try to eat the entire plate.”

“Then I’ll help you.” San snatches a slice of bacon and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. “There you go.”

Rolling his eyes, Wooyoung picks up the fork. “I seriously don’t get why you’re so nice to me.”

“I told you I wanted to spend the rest of winter break with you,” San says. “And last night, you gave me a reason to.”

Wooyoung slices the pancake with the side of his fork. It’s dry due to the lack of syrup, but at least San had the intuition to put chocolate chips. “And what reason was that?” he asks, shoving the chocolatey flour fluff into his mouth.

“You were upset.”

“And that’s a reason to drop everything you’re doing and come to see me?”

San shrugs. “It was getting boring at home. When I told my parents I needed to go see my friend, they were all for it.”

“Why was I upset again?” Wooyoung asks.

“Um…” San blinks, hesitating. “I think it had something to do with your mother. I don’t know exactly, you… didn’t really explain.”

“Oh.”

Some stupid shit, probably.

It hits him, but it doesn’t hit him as hard as he expects it to. He’s forgotten plenty already; forgetting why he’d been “upset” last night isn’t any different.

Right. So his mother had called him because he’d forgotten to visit after Christmas. The truth is, he totally could’ve visited her after he left his aunt’s.

His mind was just set on getting back to see San.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?” San questions hesitantly.

Wooyoung shrugs. “My mother’s kind of… I don’t know, capricious?”

“How so?”

“It’s not, like, violent mood swings or anything like that. She doesn’t get angry. She’s just… not in a good place, I guess. I forgot to visit her after I left my aunt’s, and I guess she was upset at that, but she didn’t sound that upset when she called me.” He chuckles, remembering the lack of a contact name when her number showed up on screen. “I don’t even have her number saved.”

San nods, gesturing for him to continue with an expectant look.

“Her attitude’s just really off-putting, which makes her a little unpredictable. She’s pretty mentally unstable.”

“Why’s that?”

“Ever since my father up and walked out of our lives, she’s been… kinda fucked in the head. My aunt checks up on her often.”

“So, when she called you, did she… say anything that upset you? And is that why you got drunk?”

Wooyoung huffs, shoving three slices of pancake into his mouth until his cheeks inflate like a squirrel’s.

“She probably said something like, ‘remember to be careful!’”

“Y-yeah,” San says. “You sort of mentioned that in the drunken tirade you went on when you called me.”

He swallows the pancake slices and feels the immediate clog in his chest, which he ignores. “What else did I say? Sorry, you know I forget a lot of shit.”

“It’s okay.” It’s probably not. “Um… you sounded pretty angry. You called your mother a hypocrite for saying you should be careful when making friends. And you… um, yeah.”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. “I what?”

“Just… said some really concerning things, I guess.”

“That doesn’t sound unlike me.”

“I just… Wooyoung, do you really not care about what happens to you?”

Wooyoung stares down at his plate. His stomach feels like it’s being flushed down a toilet in a swirling vortex of toxic sludge.

_“But even though you won’t believe me, Wooyoung, you are important.”_

He shrugs, and San sighs. “I do in some ways, I guess,” Wooyoung elaborates. “Like, I’m not gonna off myself like Hwanjin did, but I guess… if I were to find out I was going to die tomorrow, or the next day, or the next month, I wouldn’t try to stop it from happening.”

Wooyoung can see everything in San’s brain churning to try to come up with a response. He would let San know that it’s _okay_ , that he knows that not everything he says can warrant a response because he’s just _fucked up_ and not everyone can handle fucked up people.

It makes him wonder endlessly why San is still around.

“When your mother tells you to be careful, what does she mean?” San asks, diverging from the topic.

“She’s all set on me not being hurt by people,” Wooyoung answers. “A protective measure, I guess. Since my dad really fucked her up.”

“What… happened?”

“He was just a massive bag of horse shit.”

If his father was on that plank instead of him, he would gladly watch him jump, or be the one to push him.

“Cheated on her a bunch and left the family as soon as she had my little brother. He had the decency to leave a bunch of funds for us since he was about as rich as Yunho’s family, but still.” Wooyoung frowns and glances down at the plate. He’s eaten a lot more than he thought. “Growing up, she’d always tell me to be careful because people can hurt me.”

“Have people hurt you before?” San asks.

If people have hurt him, he can’t remember.

“I don’t know.”

“Seems like you’ve, um, repressed a lot,” San says.

Wooyoung doesn’t entirely disagree, so he shrugs again. “That’s just how it is, I guess.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

At this point, Wooyoung feels like he could shrug so much that his shoulders fall off. “I’m glad you’re talking to me about it, though,” San says, leaning forward on his forearms. “Thank you. It means a lot.”

“You’re welcome?”

Confused as all hell, Wooyoung’s face scrunches as San’s brightens, and he can’t help but think about how the San in his dream is probably what his mother would think of him.

✲

_I seriously don’t get why San likes me so much. Or maybe he doesn’t like me all that much, and that taking care of some twisted slutty dickhead is a way of appeasing his savior complex or some shit. Whatever the case, it’s fucking weird._

_He apparently traveled two hours just to take care of me after I got shitfaced. Like, I’m pretty sure Yunho wouldn’t even do that, and he’s probably the person I’m closest to. Does this mean I’m closest to San? God, I fucking hope not. That guy deserves way better friends than me._

_He said it seems like I’ve repressed a lot, which is probably true. Maybe that’s why I don’t remember shit. A defense mechanism, I guess. Oh god, am I gonna end up like my mother? I sure fucking hope not. I mean, at least I’m leaving the house and doing shit._

_I really, really don’t want to end up like her. Or my asshole of a father. I think I’m doing a pretty good job so far._

_Also, San used to cut himself because he was depressed in high school. I really don’t understand why, and he doesn’t either. He acknowledged that he was depressed for no reason, which happens, I guess. But he’s better now, or so he claims. I believe him. He seems to be doing well, always happy and shit whenever I see him._

_I think he thinks I’m sad. I’m not sad. I’m not going to cut myself or kill myself. I don’t really get why he’s so worried about me, but at the same time, I do._

_He’s not going back home for the rest of winter break. Said that while he’s concerned about me, he was also incredibly bored at home, which… I get. Because if I’m being honest, I was super bored without him here. Those two weeks being alone in the house made me want to bang my head against the wall until some concerned neighbors called the cops._

_It’s not like I can stop him or demand that he goes home. So I guess he’ll be sticking around for the rest of winter break. At least I’ll have someone to hang out with._

_It’s pretty fucking wild that I’ve lived another year. Not to mention I’ll be entering my junior year. Fucking hell, Hwanjin killed himself almost two years ago. I wonder how he’s doing, wherever his soul is, if it’s anywhere, or if it exists._

_Man, out of all the shit I’ve repressed, you’d think a guy’s suicide would be one of those things._

_Whatever. This shit’s getting depressing so I’ll end it here._

✲

Having San back in close vicinity reminds Wooyoung just how much he’s missed kissing him.

He doesn’t know what it is about San’s lips that make his head feel like it’s swimming and floating and drowning all at the same time. But he fucking loves it, how easily San can make him lose his breath, how San can make him feel high and drunk at the same time, on cloud eleven.

And _god_ , the way San touches him. Even though Wooyoung hasn’t had him as much as Yunho, San has already become an expert on Wooyoung’s body. He’s mapped out the spots that make his skin burn bright and sticks pins and needles where he needs to go. San knows where to stroke and bite and kiss and lick, knows exactly where to travel to get what he wants.

San blows him a lot, and Wooyoung seriously can’t complain. It’s not something he’s used to, at least, not with anyone else. But he gets used to it with San. Sometimes they don’t even fuck; San just gives him lazy head until they’re both satisfied. Sometimes, San doesn’t even come. Sometimes, San doesn’t bother with himself at all.

Wooyoung is starting to wonder if San is just incredibly selfless or downright insane.

San returns to work at the pet store, and one day, he brings Wooyoung to show him the clowder of cats he looks after. His favorite one is named Byeol, a seven-month-old Siamese cat with striking blue eyes and the face of a literal angel.

While San tends to the store, which is terribly dead for the most part, Wooyoung entertains himself and the cats. As much as he loves selling sex toys, he would also definitely not mind looking after cats.

“Wait a second… who’s looking after Yeosang’s fish tank when he’s gone?” Wooyoung exclaims suddenly one night at dinner.

“Probably hired someone,” San says with a shrug.

“What a dedicated owner. I’d salute him if he were here right now.”

San chuckles before sucking the flesh out of a crab leg.

✲

When junior year officially starts, when the campus walkways flood with new and returning students alike, Wooyoung decides it’s finally time to get his shit together and be productive. He does once, twice, thrice-overs of his syllabuses, returns to work at the sex shop, attends some dance lessons with Yunho, and goes to the gym a total of three times during that first week.

He then decides to stop because it’s too tiring being a productive member of society. That, or maybe it’s because it’s just not him.

Hongjoong’s shows start up again. To fit the oncoming springtime mood, he plays more acoustic tracks with hollow-bodied guitars and pianos and shakers, some with jarring melodies and some with pretty ones. His taste in music never ceases to surprise Wooyoung.

One night, while he’s sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of his bedroom door, he receives a photo of a photo from San.

**[sanshine]**

_from our makeshift fireworks display!_

Wooyoung smiles as brightly as the sparklers in his hand. More photos appear, all of which are of him with the sparklers in hand in different phases of smiling and laughing. In fact, it appears as if San sends them in chronological order on purpose.

**[slutty dickhead]**

_they came out good!_

**[sanshine]**

_they look even better in real life! i’ll show them to you when we see each other next. you can have them if you want_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_aw, why, you don’t wanna keep my face in your portfolio?_

**[sanshine]**

_oh don’t get me wrong jung wooyoung. i would LOVE to have your face in my portfolio_

_i’ll take a picture of you and title it “the man with the black hole brain”_

_instead of galaxy brain_

_nice touch aint it_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_whatever floats your boat man_

He turns Hongjoong’s radio show back on and places his phone screen-down on the floor. Glancing up at the doorknob, he sticks his finger in between the door and its frame, right above the bottom hinge, and goes to close the door with his opposite hand.

Needless to say, having his finger caught in the door hurts, and a slew of curse words follow.

“What on earth are you doing?” Yunho asks as soon as he reaches the scene.

“Fucking hell, I don’t know how Hwanjin did it,” Wooyoung grumbles, massaging his poor pointer finger.

“Who?”

“Forget it.”

Yunho eyes him suspiciously for several seconds before rolling his eyes and walking off.

✲

Wooyoung doesn’t go to the infamous ‘Welcome Back Party’ at one of Yunho’s rich friends’ place because San wants ice cream, and what college party serves ice cream?

He’d gone to the last one, although it wasn’t really a ‘Welcome Back Party’ for him since it was his first year at the new university, but he had fun nonetheless. There, he met a guy whose name he doesn’t remember who fucked him so hard he couldn’t walk the next day. The guy came too fast for Wooyoung’s liking, and he can’t remember if he did or not.

When he thinks about it, the only hookup he can clearly remember is San, and maybe it’s because San is still present in his life.

San shows him the photos. With just a minimal amount of editing, the four photos show Wooyoung’s various stages of laughter while the sparklers illuminate his face and some of the night’s background. Even then, San blurred out background, leaving Wooyoung and the sparks at the foreground, the main focus.

“Do you want them?” San asks.

“You took them, so you keep them.”

San pouts. “That’s not always how it works, you know.”

Maybe not, Wooyoung supposes, but he doesn’t really want to have photos of himself in his room. It doesn’t feel right.

“But if you insist, I’ll keep them. Add them to my portfolio.” San smiles, sliding them back into their protective folder and tucking it back into his bag. “So, how have your first few weeks back been?”

“Fine, I guess.” Wooyoung takes a bite of his orange sorbet. “You know there’s a really big party going on tonight, right?”

“Yeah, Mingi told me about it. Said it’s a big deal for returning students. Yunho’s taking him.”

“Of course.” Wooyoung chuckles.

“You’re not going?” San questions, a hot pink spoon loosely hanging from his mouth. There’s chocolate ice cream on the side of his mouth.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Wooyoung retorts playfully.

“You could still go. It’s… ten o’clock.”

Wooyoung shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not in the party mood tonight.”

“That’s… very unlike you.”

And _oh shit_ , that’s right, Wooyoung realizes. He actually remembers the last time he went to a party; he ended up leaving early with San because he was uncomfortable. Uncomfortable. At a party.

He frowns at himself, brows scrunching and all. “I mean, I’m not complaining,” San adds quickly. “I’m not that big of a fan of parties, so… I don’t mind hanging out with you. But at the same time, you don’t have to hang out with me if you don’t want to. Like, if you want to go partying—”

“It’s fine, San,” Wooyoung assures, but he can’t stop thinking about how weird it is. “I’m glad we got ice cream.”

“We can hang out back at my place after this, if you want.”

Wooyoung smirks and thinks to himself, if he’s not partying, at least he’s keeping up with the whole ‘slutty dickhead’ part of his persona.

✲

For some reason, San is being extra slow tonight.

Wooyoung is used to the fast-paced rush of quick, hard sex. In fact, he remembers his first time with San being somewhat like that. But this time around, San takes his precious fucking time, nipping at Wooyoung’s neck and trailing his deft fingers down his sides like he has all the time in the world. And because San is attached to Wooyoung’s neck, Wooyoung can’t find the words in him to ask _why are you going so fucking slow?_

He doesn’t not like it. He just doesn’t understand.

Doesn’t understand why San is so gentle. He isn’t fucking fragile. He can take, and has taken, a lot. He doesn’t understand why San insists on taking care of him when there’s absolutely no need, because he can do shit on his own.

That’s how it’s been. How it’s _always_ been.

Ever since his father walked out. Ever since his mother decided it was fine for him to take over the fatherly role and look after Kyungmin so she wouldn’t have to. He would dress his little brother and drive him to school. He would wake up at four in the morning just to do everything for the two of them. Meanwhile, his mother rested peacefully, tucked away in a bed meant for two.

He barely got his college essay done in time and would do well on his assignments in exchange for his sleep. He learned to cook some dishes so he wouldn’t have to buy takeout all the time. He learned how to operate the coffee machine so he could make his own, three creams and three sugars.

That being said, Wooyoung has learned to do shit on his own.

He’s slapped tape over the small gap in the hourglass, stitched up the tiny holes in his umbrellas, time and time again. He doesn’t need someone to take care of him. He doesn’t need San to act like he cares, that he _wants_ to do shit for him because he _doesn’t need it._

“Hey,” San says suddenly, “you okay?”

“What? Yeah, why?”

“You just seem kind of out of it,” San says, sitting back up. “Is there something wrong?”

“No,” Wooyoung answers, though he isn’t sure of how convincing he sounds.

San looks at him dubiously, just like he had when Wooyoung said he was ready for him the first time they hooked up. “Wooyoung, I think I’ve known you long enough to be able to tell when you’re not entirely in it.”

Wooyoung huffs and rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

San rolls off of him and rests his back against the headboard. Wooyoung looks up at his ceiling; it’s flat just like the one at his aunt’s house. The fairy lights aren’t on. It’s just the ceiling light that’s on, and even though its yellow glow shouldn’t be too harsh on the eyes, it’s fucking annoying.

He shields his eyes, much like San had done on the S.S. Suffering, and chuckles, thinking that dream-San had absolutely no reason to when he was wearing those ridiculous sunglasses.

“It’s too fucking bright,” Wooyoung says.

So San gets up and turns it off and switches on the fairy lights. They alternate between pink, green, and purple.

“What’s wrong, Wooyoung?” San asks, settling back into position.

Wooyoung lets out a deep sigh. Fireflies escape his mouth, but it still feels like they’re jabbing their flickering asses into his stomach lining. “I really, really don’t understand why you’re so… I don’t know, accommodating.”

“Because I do things for you? Is that what this is about?”

“Sure,” Wooyoung responds, unintentionally sarcastic. “I just seriously don’t understand why you’re so quick to come to my rescue when I don’t need it.”

Wooyoung watches his reaction… or lack thereof. If anything, a small amount of confusion crosses San’s face, but nothing else. “Um… I’m not sure how to respond to that, honestly. I don’t consider it ‘rescuing’ you. I’m just doing what I want.”

“Why do you _want_ to take care of me? I’m the one fucking up; I should be the one dealing with the consequences.”

“You haven’t really _fucked up_ , though. Yeah, there was that instance where you got drunk and passed out on your bathroom floor, and that other time when you kinda lost your sense of self after getting crossfaded, but everything else… they were all just small things, you know?”

Except those were two very _big_ things, things that Yunho has had to deal with and the most he does is get him painkillers in the morning. Not lay with him until he’s safe or travel two hours just to be with him and make him breakfast.

“Do you… not want any help? Is that it?”

Wooyoung scoffs.

“I don’t fucking care,” he mutters. “After all, it’s not like I can stop you from acting on your savior complex.”

San’s mouth drops open. “What the… Wooyoung, are you being serious right now? I don’t have a savior complex! I don’t know why you’re being so hostile all of a sudden, but—”

“I don’t know why you’re so fucking gentle with me! I’m not made of glass, I’m not sad, I’m not as vulnerable as you seem to think I am! So why are you treating me like I’m going to break?”

San’s face turns into one of confusion again, lips parted. He’s taken aback. And as soon as the words are out, Wooyoung can’t help but feel a little guilty.

He hasn’t seen San look like this before.

“Wooyoung-ah… I really, really don’t know how to get this through your thick skull, but I’m treating you like I would treat anyone else. Like… I don’t know, a human?” He scoffs. “Have people been that shitty to you that you think my actions are some kind of savior complex?”

Once again, Wooyoung finds himself at a loss for words, a fat fish on dry land, flopping around. Instead of hopping back into the ocean, he only continues to accumulate sand on his tongue.

“If Mingi were in those same situations, I’d do the exact same thing, because that’s what I _want._ I _want_ to help the people I care about and be there for them whether they need me or not.”

Wooyoung lets out another frustrated sigh and throws his hands over his face. “I don’t… I don’t _need_ you to do all that shit for me.”

“And I will tell you time and time again, I _want_ to. Jesus, are you actually getting mad at me for being nice? What, do you want me to treat you like shit?”

A breath hitches in Wooyoung’s throat and he presses his palms further into his eyes.

_Not now. Not now._

“You say you don’t understand me, but believe me, Wooyoung, I don’t understand you. Like, at all. But even though that’s the case, I’m still going to treat you how I want to treat you, and if you don’t want me to be there for you when you’re upset or drunk or alone, just say the word and I’ll back off. As much as I don’t _want_ to do that, I’m going to respect you and your wants.”

_Respect, huh?_

“You’re… fuck, San-ah, what even _are_ you?”

“I’m a human? What else am I supposed to say?”

“I just don’t understand… why you’re so nice.”

San sighs heavily, shimmying down until his head is near level with Wooyoung’s. Graceful fingers tenderly run along his jaw before turning it towards him. “Wooyoung, I’m just being me,” San says.

“And I don’t get why someone like you would want to be friends with someone like me.”

The waters are flooding his throat. It feels like he’s drowning on land.

“Does there have to be a reason why? I like you, Wooyoung, simple as that. I like being friends with you and hanging out with you and having sex with you on occasion.” Wooyoung chuckles at that. “Maybe just… try not to think about it so much. Just let it happen, you know?”

_Just let it happen._

_Let the waves devour the ship. Let the universe run its course and send its waters over to drown you instead of jumping off the plank. Let the quicksand gobble you up. Don’t try to fight it._

_“Just take my words._ Think _about them. Let them soak in. And don’t. Say. Anything.”_

“Maybe Hongjoong-hyung is right,” Wooyoung murmurs. San’s lips are so close. “Maybe I do think too much.”

“I know it’s hard to stop thinking,” San says, his breath barely ghosting over Wooyoung’s lips. It smells chocolatey sweet, like the ice cream, like the pancakes he’d made for him. “I know it’s hard to escape your own head. But… at least for now, try not to think.”

 _Try not to think_.

Try not to think.

San is still slow. He still touches Wooyoung like he would a fine piece of art. He still kisses Wooyoung languidly yet passionately, _familiar_. He’s on top again, hands on his hips. When his lips reattach to Wooyoung’s neck, Wooyoung opens the window and lets his inhibitions out.

Like the thousand umbrellas flying open and floating away. Like the vampire bats migrating back to their natural habitat. Like the killer hornets finding their way back to their nests, like the freight train landing safely back on the ground, like the fireworks stop midway and don’t explode.

They await the countdown once more.

Wooyoung gives up.

His hands are limp beside his head, and he doesn’t resist when San slides his fingers in between the spaces and clasps tight.

He tangles his fingers in San’s midnight hair when his mouth is on him again. He lets San set his own pace, and just like everything up to this point, it’s slow.

Wooyoung’s breathing has calmed significantly. When he switched the ‘open’ sign in his brain to ‘closed’ and turned the lights off for the night, he let San in before locking the door.

He discards his clothes to save San some of the effort.

_Guilt._

“San,” Wooyoung gasps, flipping them both over. San gawks at him with bewildered eyes, and even from below, San still doesn’t look small.

He’s still the sturdy mountain with fortitude spilling from the brim, home to an abundance of creatures that love their home.

He kisses San slowly because that’s what San had done to him.

He can’t remember the last time he gave a blowjob.

Was it with Yunho? Probably. Wooyoung is pretty sure he hasn’t blown any of his hookups. He doesn’t have the patience for that.

Here, with San, it feels like he has all the time and patience in the world.

So he takes San’s cock into his mouth, welcomingly, because he’s so fucking sick of making people wait on him.

 _I’m sorry, San,_ he wants to say. _I’m sorry that you feel like you have to wait on me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me._

It’s the last somber thought that crosses his mind before he’s buried inside San, much, _much_ different from the last time.

San’s moans are a godsend. Hearing the mountain weak beneath him is enough to make him want to crumble already, but he keeps it up because he knows he’s been selfish. He knows San has been sacrificing way too much for him, unnecessarily, so it’s only fair he repays him somehow.

_In the only way he knows how._

“Wooyoung, _fuck_ , feels s-so fucking good,” San groans, crossing his legs around Wooyoung’s rear and locking him in.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

 _I’m glad,_ Wooyoung wants to say. _I’m glad you feel good and I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish. I don’t know what’s wrong with me._

He’s damn sure he’s never been so deep inside someone, so close, so _intimate._ Despite his unhurried movements, his heart is pounding, pumping blood to his body at an unbelievable rate. San’s face is right against his, forehead to forehead, nose to nose.

“ _God_ , Wooyoung, I… f-fuck, I’m close.”

Wooyoung keeps one arm hooked behind San’s head, supporting him, while the other reaches down so he can grab ahold of his cock. “ _Yes,_ Wooyoung, _yes_!” he moans, eyes fluttering shut and letting out a filthy moan right into Wooyoung’s mouth.

Wooyoung takes it all in.

When San comes, an earthquake occurs. One that splits open the quicksand, fissures the ocean floor, shakes the trees and frightens the rabid animals. Everything that would normally swallow Wooyoung’s body caves in.

What’s left standing is that beautiful mountain and the tiny bird that loves to fly above it.

Wooyoung’s name is the only word that leaves San’s mouth. Again and again.

During his orgasm, San tightens around him, squeezing him in, holding him harder, and Wooyoung comes with a deep, guttural groan into his neck.

In the several moments that follow, Wooyoung wishes he could open his mouth and say the words that would’ve come out if his tongue didn’t betray him. But there’s a man below him, who cares way too much about him, who can’t seem to tell that he isn’t worth the speck of dust on his kitchen counter, who “treats him like a human,” whatever the fuck that means.

There’s a man below him who doesn’t want him to think.

So he doesn’t.

But that doesn’t mean he forgets.

✲

**[slutty dickhead]**

_hyung, are you busy?_

**[genius joong]**

_if by busy you mean blinking away the last few remnants of sleep over my first cup of coffee, then yes_

_why what’s up?_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_mind if we meet up somewhere? the café maybe?_

**[genius joong]**

_i wont be there until later this evening_

_how urgent is this matter_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_i honestly have no fucking clue like im really sorry to bother you but i just do NOT feel right_

_i would talk to san but he has class rn_

**[genius joong]**

_ah, come on over then_

_seonghwa is here but he’ll leave us alone don’t worry_

_speaking of which do you know how he’s doing with yeosang? he wont tell me anything_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_i have no clue tbh yeosang doesn’t tell me shit, and probably for good reason_

**[genius joong]**

_gotcha. well, see you soon_

✲

Hongjoong’s apartment is a lot… redder.

In some strange metaphorical sense, it fits his whole aesthetic and music taste. Black leather furniture, crimson red walls, yellow lightbulbs strung across the ceiling. As soon as he walks in, he’s greeted by a living room and what looks to be Hongjoong’s workspace, consisting of two monitors, a keyboard that lights up rainbow colors, an electric piano, and four subwoofers.

Damn, Hongjoong must have been saving for a long ass time.

“Welcome to my humble abode, make yourself at home. Coffee?”

Wooyoung shakes his head and kicks off his shoes, sitting down on the nearest chair, which is a black leather armchair to match all the other furniture. Hongjoong pays little mind to the abruptness of it and takes his own seat on the swivel chair next to his beloved computer. “So what brings you here today?”

It reminds Wooyoung all too much of his beloved shark therapist.

“I just… what’s wrong with me, hyung?”

Hongjoong blinks at him. “You’re asking a loaded question to someone who has only known you for a few months. Plus, I’m not one who likes to make assumptions.”

“Well, if you had to _assume_ what was wrong with me, what would you say?” Wooyoung asks, swallowing a massive wave, leaning forward and resting his chin on his thumbs.

“You’re a victim of your own head,” Hongjoong says. “It’s pretty common.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say, Wooyoung? I’m not a professional. I can’t just diagnose you with a mental condition. Not to mention I know next to nothing about you.”

Wooyoung sucks his bottom lip in and nods. Right.

“We’re all deep in our heads sometimes. Some more so than others. You’ve got a lot going on in here.” Hongjoong taps a finger against his temple. “And I assume that it gets overwhelming sometimes, and that’s why you’re here right now.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Wooyoung says, and it comes out shakily. A rustle. A stutter in the wind. “I’m not like this. I can’t be like this. Why am I like this?”

“Like what, exactly?”

“ _This_! Why am I so fucking selfish? Okay, so, here’s what happened. I got drunk because something happened with my mother, called San while I was drunk, and he came from _two hours_ away just to take care of my dumb ass when I didn’t ask him to. Before that, he got me water when I got so high that I couldn’t walk, and he just… why the fuck is he so nice to me? I don’t fucking get it!”

Hongjoong’s face scrunches, head tilting and eyes closing as if to process the new information. “So… hold on. You’re talking about two separate issues here, one being you being selfish and the other being San being self _less_ and you not understanding why. How about we start with San?”

Of course, because Hongjoong is all buddy-buddy with San and somehow everything ends up rewinding back to _San San San. All about San._

“Firstly, I’m sure you’ve figured this out by now, but San is a wonderful person. He’s generous and kind but he knows what he wants and knows where the boundaries lie. So that’s why he’s so nice to you; it’s just in his nature.”

Wooyoung chews on his lip and wishes the hornets would stab him in the mouth so he wouldn’t be able to talk again.

“As for the other part… it sounds like you’ve got other internal issues going on. And I’m in no way going to pressure you to talk about whatever you don’t want to talk about, so—”

“I don’t want his help!” Wooyoung exclaims suddenly. “I don’t _need_ his help! All my fucking life, I’ve been doing shit on my own, and all of a sudden this guy with a treasure map neck and a stupidly warm smile and big muscles and scars comes along and fucks that up? It’s _pathetic_ , hyung. _I’m_ pathetic.”

Hongjoong looks at him entirely puzzled, and honestly, Wooyoung is too.

He’s _tired._

“He keeps saying that he’s going to treat me however he wants to treat me. I can’t stop him from doing that, I can’t stop him from helping me even though I don’t need it. I can’t stop him from… being himself, I guess. But fucking hell, hyung, I’m going crazy. The other night, he told me to forget. To stop thinking. But that totally contradicted what you told me, no? Because you told me to never stop thinking.”

Hongjoong gives him a sigh and a sympathetic look. “There’s a threshold, Wooyoungie. And… it depends on what you think _about._ I don’t know or understand what goes on in that brain of yours, and nobody ever will. But it seems like you’ve been keeping all of this in for quite some time. Do you… ever _talk_ about the things that bother you?”

Wooyoung laughs coldly. “That’s the thing, hyung. I’m usually _not_ bothered by shit. But all of a sudden, I’m just… I can’t stop thinking about everything. My brain won’t shut the fuck up. I haven’t been to a party in _months_ , and San told me that it’s unlike me, which is totally true. What the fuck is going on, hyung? Why does it feel like I’m going insane? Am I insane?”

“You’re asking me questions I don’t have the answer to,” Hongjoong says. “I’m sure you don’t have the answer to them either. _That_ is what’s driving you insane.”

“I just wish I knew,” Wooyoung admits flatly. “To answer your question from before… no, I normally don’t talk. Not about the shit that I only seem to remember when something reminds me of it. That’s another thing. I can’t remember shit, and I don’t know why.”

“Amnesia?”

Wooyoung shakes his head. “I’ve never gotten a concussion or hit my head that hard.”

“Dissociation?”

“What’s that?”

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know what dissociation is?” Wooyoung shakes his head again. “Well, it’s basically when you kind of detach yourself from reality. Kinda like losing your sense of self. Don’t quote me on this, because I’m only going off of what I learned back in high school, but it can be your brain’s way of coping with… trauma.”

_Trauma?_

“That doesn’t sound right,” Wooyoung mumbles, frowning.

Hongjoong shrugs. “I don’t know you or your past, Wooyoung-ah,” he says. “So I can’t speak to whether or not you have trauma. But look into it, perhaps.”

Wooyoung looks down at his hands. Perfectly normal human hands, not shark fins, not bat wings. He clenches and unclenches his fingers. He’s here right now. He’s living and breathing, not dying and drowning.

So why does he keep feeling like he is?

What will it take for the oceans to calm down?

“Thank you for talking to me about this,” Hongjoong says.

Wooyoung gives him a look.

San had thanked him too.

“Why are you thanking me?” he asks.

“It’s not easy to open up,” Hongjoong says, turning his chair towards the blank monitors. “When a book has been shoved away for too long, it collects an unhealthy amount of dust. It takes a long time to clean the pages off and, depending on the damage, sometimes, it’s not entirely legible.” He pauses and smiles and glances down, some form of nostalgia in his eyes. “But there’s always going to be a bookworm who loves literature to the point where they will do anything to read something they want to.”

Wooyoung’s phone goes off.

**[sanshine]**

_hey, wanna grab dinner later?_

When he looks back up, Hongjoong is still smiling, and Wooyoung can imagine where he got it from.

“You should give yourself more credit for the things you do, Wooyoung,” he says.

_“Have more faith in yourself, Wooyoung.”_

“It’s a tired world out there. I imagine San makes it just a little more bearable.”

**[sanshine]**

_my treat! got paid today and mingi owed me money from a bet we had a while back that he JUST gave to me… and it’s a lot lol_

_tell me where u wanna go and we’ll go there!_

Wooyoung lets out a trembling breath.

_Not now. Not now._

“Bearable… yeah,” he says.

But a tired world becoming bearable after so long… it’s so, so terrifying.

✲

Wooyoung owns one belt.

He sticks it in between the door and yanks.

“Wooyoung,” Yunho says upon entering the hallway. He sees Wooyoung open the door, belt in hand, buckled at the farthest hole. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His eyes widen as he drops to the ground.

“Nothing,” Wooyoung says nonchalantly.

“That didn’t look like _nothing_ to me!” Yunho snatches the belt from Wooyoung’s hand and throws it somewhere down the hall. “Wooyoung, what the _fuck_? What were you doing?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Wooyoung asserts.

Yunho leans in slightly, eyes observant on his neck. “What the actual fuck, Wooyoung? Have you lost your goddamn mind?” He’s never sounded so furious.

_Did Hwanjin lose his mind?_

“Who even is that?” Yunho asks suddenly.

_Oh._

“He went to my old university.”

Wooyoung can’t see where the belt landed from where he is on the floor, but he refuses to look at Yunho.

“He hung himself with a belt. From the door to his room.”

He hears Yunho gasp silently.

“I think that might be the reason why I transferred here,” Wooyoung mumbles.

There’s more silence.

“I guess… I guess I couldn’t stand to keep living at a place where someone I knew killed himself.”

Yunho’s knees touch his own.

“I’m not going to kill myself, so don’t worry about that,” Wooyoung says. “It just… it baffles me, you know? It’s so surreal, that someone so close killed himself while everyone else was at a party. And… I think… I was the only one who didn’t go.”

“Oh.”

Wooyoung can see Yunho trying to dip his head beneath him. To try to look at him. But why would he want to? Why would smiley, fantastic, radiant Yunho want to look at a slutty dickhead in shambles?

“I wasn’t the one who discovered his body or anything like that,” Wooyoung says. “But I can’t help but think sometimes… what if I’d talked to him more? What if I had gotten to know him? Would that have changed anything?”

Yunho’s giant hands cover his. He can’t bother to move them away.

“I don’t know anymore, Yunho.” His eyes slip shut. So _tired._ “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Yunho’s voice has never sounded so comforting, so genuine. It’s always, _“You’re so weird, Woo,”_ or, _“God, Wooyoung, you’re so fucking tight,”_ or, _“I seriously don’t get you, Wooyoung.”_

There are long arms around him in an embrace that he doesn’t recognize.

Has Yunho ever hugged him like this? If he has, Wooyoung can’t remember.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The waves are carrying him.

“Shh, it’s okay. I got you.”

He lands ashore. He thinks he feels okay.

“Do you want me to call San?”

Wooyoung shakes his head.

The last person he wants to see is the man who is slowly peeling the tape off his hourglass and poking more holes into his umbrellas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i highly recommend listening to the song this fic is inspired by if you haven't already. i throw in a lot of lyrical references :)
> 
> the song is stray italian greyhound by vienna teng. good tune.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)


	6. rewrite the rulebook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you anything like San from the S.S. Suffering?”
> 
> “Well, that depends. What is San from the S.S. Suffering like?”
> 
> “He told me to jump.”
> 
> “Then no, I am not like San from the S.S. Suffering.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for anxiety, minor suicidal ideation, references to family issues, and recreational drug use (specifically thc gummy bears)

Wooyoung rarely dreams at night because he’s too busy dreaming during the day. His brain screams until its throat is raw during the day and steals away all the opportunities of peaceful dreaming at night. Normally.

But for some goddamn reason all he can dream about is that stupid cruise and San being a smug asshole trying to coerce him into jumping.

 _It’s not real,_ subconscious Wooyoung tells himself as his burning body stands at the edge of the plank. Night after night. Staring down at the ocean blue, the dream manifestation of him inhales smoke and salt water and somehow manages to breathe just fine.

 _Jump,_ subconscious San tells subconscious Wooyoung.

And somehow, physical Wooyoung manages to wake up in a night sweat at around four in the morning because the flames have apparently presented themselves in real life. Every. Single. Time.

He doesn’t wake Yunho up even though he feels sick to his stomach every time he wakes up in a cold sweat. He chugs a glass or two of water and forces his eyes to shut. Sometimes he falls back asleep, sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he stays awake and listens to the last hour of Hongjoong’s show and considers texting San, but then remembers that he’s annoying and should probably not talk to San if he wants to keep San in his life.

He doesn’t exactly know how that makes sense, but it does. It _shouldn’t_ make sense, but then again, he doesn’t text Yeosang half the time and he still considers him a best friend.

Maybe he should raise his standards or something, but he feels like it’s a little late for that.

There is one night, however, where the sweat is accompanied by salty seawater tears for whatever reason. He’s gasping for air, like he was drowning in his sleep, heart punching his ribcage and all of its surrounding organs. With shaky fingertips and a muddled mind, he dials San at seven past four.

And surprisingly, San picks up.

“Wooyoung? What’s up? Why so late… or, early?”

“I… I’m sorry,” Wooyoung gasps, still panting. “I don’t know… what happened. I just… I just woke up, a-and I can’t breathe—”

“Whoa whoa whoa, okay. Try to take some deep breaths for me, okay? Inhale through your nose for five seconds, hold for five more, and exhale for five more. Can you do that?”

Wooyoung nods despite San not being able to see him and follows the instructions with subconscious San smirking in the background. Though the tears aren’t stopping for whatever reason, at least his heart slows down a bit and tells itself to chill the fuck out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” San asks.

_Talk._

What is there to talk about?

Wooyoung doesn’t know why the fuck he’s been having the same dream over and over, why he’s been waking up at unfair hours in the morning covered in a layer of sweat. What is he supposed to tell San, that the San inside his brain is telling him to kill himself? Real life San would get a kick out of that, for sure.

“Just… a nightmare, I guess.”

Wooyoung isn’t sure if that’s an under or overstatement.

“Do you want me to come over?”

“What? Dude, it’s four in the morning.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Don’t you have class?”

“Yeah, and?”

Wooyoung scoffs.

He could tell San no, but there’s always a thirty-seven percent chance of San ignoring it because he _wants to be there for him_ , whatever the fuck that means.

“Up to you, I guess,” Wooyoung decides.

“Okay, cool.”

San hangs up, leaving Wooyoung to the dismal lack of moonlight and a throat drier than the Sahara Desert.

He gets up and drinks one glass of water before crawling back into bed and closing his eyes again.

✲

 _“Hey, I’m here,”_ dream San says, wrapping his arms around Wooyoung’s shoulders and linking his hands at his chest.

 _“Yeah, you always are_ ,” dream Wooyoung replies. His voice sounds like telephone static.

 _“But like, I’m_ here _here, you know what I mean?”_

When Wooyoung looks down, San’s hands are on fire, just like the rest of his body.

_“Do you really think I’d hurt you, Wooyoung?”_

They’re both on fire.

_“Probably.”_

The ocean water beneath them boils angrily, spewing bubbles and steam before a geyser shoots up a scalding blast of water right in front of their eyes.

_“If you think I will, then I probably will.”_

Wooyoung’s hands are involuntarily glued to his sides. The more he stares at San’s hands, the more he wants to hold them and beg, _please don’t hurt me._

_“I promise you, Wooyoung, I will do my best not to hurt you.”_

San squeezes him tighter, bracing him for impact as the forceful eruption of water jostles the plank.

✲

Wooyoung wakes up to a familiar pair of arms around his body. Neither of them are on fire.

✲

As raucous cheers of testosterone-filled competition ring through the student union, Wooyoung sips his cola and shades in his waves with his blue and green gel pens. He should probably invest in some colored pencils or something.

Jongho is at it again. To Wooyoung’s surprise, he lost once. Once out of sixteen.

Wooyoung has learned not to expect much, so Yeosang accosting him by projecting himself onto the chair across from him barely perturbs him. He simply glances up from his journal, straw loosely hanging from his mouth, and raises an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

Yeosang rests his chin on both his hands and smiles a chesire cat smile. “Absolutely not, but do tell me _all_ about you and Sannie.”

Wooyoung’s mouth releases the straw. “Excuse me?”

“You and San? You know. Since he _likes_ you.”

Wooyoung’s lips press together in a line of frustration, breathing in for five seconds and allowing himself to imagine punching Yeosang in the face for those blissful seconds. He then releases the breath and, in a low, threatening tone, says, “Do not. Ever. Talk about San like that.”

Yeosang’s smile turns upside down. “Why the hell are you so defensive? I’m not badmouthing San, I’m asking you how things are going since you two—”

“Are friends,” Wooyoung finishes for him, blood boiling.

“What _friend_ drops everything they’re doing just to come see you?” Yeosang is looking at him like he has two heads. That would be pretty dope. Or not. Just two times as annoying.

Oh god, if Wooyoung was the hydra he’d probably cut his own heads off.

“San does. And he’s a _friend._ ”

“Wooyoung, I don’t understand why you’re so against dating San—”

“Because I don’t do relationships, okay? How many times do I have to tell you that?” Wooyoung almost exclaims, earning a few questioning glances from surrounding students.

“But _why_?”

If there’s a last straw, Wooyoung is super close to jabbing it into Yeosang’s eye.

“ _Enough_.” Wooyoung slams his journal shut. “Keep your nose out of my personal life, and I’ll keep my nose out of yours, okay? Sound fair?”

Yeosang’s brows knit together, confused and agitated. “Sheesh, fine.” With a roll of his eyes, he leans back in the chair and crosses his arms. “Well, since you don’t want to talk about San, and because I’ve been feeling like kind of a shitty friend for not talking to you on a regular basis, let’s talk about how my relationship with Seonghwa is going.”

“Okay, Yeosangie,” Wooyoung says, tone turning a complete one-eighty. “How is your relationship with Seonghwa?”

“Just swell,” Yeosang says, face blooming into a smile once more, like their previous exchange never happened. “We’re not ‘official’ yet, since he kind of likes to take things slow… I’m just waiting for the right time to ask him to be my boyfriend _officially_ , you know?”

“Mm. So in other words, you’re still in that awkward not-dating stage just like you were before winter break?”

Yeosang frowns again, and Wooyoung laughs internally. “It’ll work out,” Yeosang mutters, and Wooyoung can tell he’s biting his tongue.

_It’ll work out between me and Seonghwa, but not between you and San because for some weird fucking reason you don’t do relationships and it’s probably because someone fucked you up._

“That’s good,” Wooyoung says. “I’m happy for you, truly.”

“Thanks.” It’s halfhearted.

But really and truly, Wooyoung is happy for him. If Seonghwa makes him happy, then good for him. If Seonghwa takes his heart and crushes it between his fingers, Wooyoung will be there for him with open arms and a tall glass of ‘I told you so.’

Because really, the way Wooyoung sees it, all of that shit comes to an end, the butterflies die, and just like everything else, love has an expiration date.

It’s not worth it. But hey, if Yeosang wants it, who is Wooyoung to tell him not to?

He’s not Yeosang’s mother.

✲

Wooyoung is in the studio with Yunho and Mingi, watching in amusement as Yunho attempts to show Mingi some convoluted dance routine. Mingi, in his tallness and gangly limbs, looks like a spaghetti noodle being thrown around on a roller coaster, but they’re all having a good time.

Wooyoung certainly doesn’t expect to hear a chirpy “hey!” from behind him, from vocal cords belonging to none other than Choi San.

“Oh, hey!” Yunho says, pausing the music. “Glad you could make it!”

“Yeah, just got out of work. How were the lessons today?”

“Pretty good.” Yunho chortles and glances over at Mingi, who’s still trying to do the moves from the routine in silence. “Clearly.”

“Mingi-yah, I’m sorry, but dance is not your calling,” San laughs, striding over to his roommate and throwing an arm around him.

Wooyoung curls into the wall, trying his best to somehow convert his physical human body to actual chopped liver because he might as well be. Fucking San. Showing up unannounced. The _audacity._ And moreover, Yunho didn’t tell him?

He heavily debates coming up with an excuse to skip the dinner Yunho planned on bringing them to but tags along anyway because he will _always_ take advantage of Yunho’s generosity. It sounds worse than it actually is. He just doesn’t want Yunho’s generosity to go to waste, that’s all!

So San sits next to him while Yunho and Mingi sit across the way. Unbeknownst to Wooyoung, San has a voracious appetite, and clearly he has the same tactic in mind: take advantage of Yunho’s generosity. He orders two crab servings because he can’t choose between spicy and marinated and Yunho just goes “Sure, as long as you share,” and San does share because just like Yunho, he is generous to the point where he might actually be insane.

Wooyoung doesn’t eat any of San’s crab.

But in the end, it seems as if Yunho and Mingi eat the majority of it, like San didn’t order the crab for himself. Which might have actually been the case.

Yunho and Mingi go to the bathroom together at one point, leaving Wooyoung with the man who tells him to jump and sets him on fire and holds him close, all in one dream.

“So, don’t tell Yunho I told you this, but I think… Mingi might have a thing for him,” San leans in and whispers like a mischievous fox.

“Thought he’s straight,” Wooyoung replies nonchalantly.

“He is,” San says. “Or maybe not. Don’t know for sure yet, but they do spend an awful lot of time together.”

“That doesn’t mean they have feelings for each other. Though if I had to guess, I’m sure Yunho wouldn’t mind dating him.”

“I get that same vibe, yeah. But let’s leave it up to Mingi to figure out what he feels and if he likes dudes. Or if he just likes Yunho. And _don’t_ tell Yunho I told you. It’s purely speculation on my part but I don’t want to raise any wrong flags, y’know?”

“Mm.”

On the inside, he imagines Yeosang and Seonghwa fighting Yunho and Mingi for who the best couple on the cruise is while he reclines in the previously occupied lounge chair and sips poison from a hollowed-out pineapple. Hongjoong is playing showtunes on his spin tables, Jongho is deadlifting people from their dangling limbs, and San is hauling up a net of crabs and yelling out, “Dinner!”

He lets everyone else eat the crabs that he spent hours catching and smiles as he watches his hard work disappear into people’s stomachs.

✲

**[genius joong]**

_wooyoungie! sorry i haven’t reached out lately_

_how are you feeling?_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_you’re not my therapist_

**[genius joong]**

_funny, since the last time i saw you, you’d reached out to me saying that you needed help and talked to me as if i actually WAS your therapist_

_but go off on me for being considerate_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_i’m sorry_

_tbh i’m still pretty fucked in the head i think_

_but i’ll be fine dw_

**[genius joong]**

_i’m fairly certain one can’t be “fucked in the head” and “fine” at the same time_

_but i’m in no position to make you talk if you don’t want to_

_just remember what i told you, okay?_

✲

_Remember what I told you._

_Yes, I remember. I remember all the fucking time._

Wooyoung barely has a grip on his phone while one of Hongjoong’s songs plays in the background. It’s a lovely melody, definitely. The lyrics are actually in Korean this time but Wooyoung isn’t paying attention. He lies there, _remembering_ , as the hourglass tilts back and forth like a seesaw, like a dangerous game to see which side the sand will spill from first.

San is somewhere on planet Earth, probably also listening to Hongjoong’s show, probably smiling and loving and hating the fact that he’s Choi San, Treasure Map Neck, the one with the warmest smile, the one who likes to put a purple gem under his eye at parties and _be there_ when he doesn’t need to be.

_“Sometimes I feel like… I care a lot about others because I don’t care all that much for myself.”_

_Bullshit_ , Wooyoung thinks.

How could Choi San hate himself? How does any of that make sense? San said it himself; he grew up privileged, with a roof above his head and parents who were there to tuck him in at night, who stayed together, who _loved_ him and still do. San has washboard abs and a handsome face and a spectacular eye in photography. San treats people like humans, _whatever that means_ , and his smile is so blinding that Wooyoung sometimes forgets that San is probably going to leave him one day because _he’s so fucking annoying._

Why the fuck does San smile so much? Does he ever run out of smiley fuel?

“I just want to sleep,” Wooyoung murmurs to the void and the passengers onboard. “I want to sleep without dreaming of some cruise that doesn’t exist. I want to sleep without feeling like I’m drowning or on fire or being eaten alive. I want. To. Sleep.”

He sniffles and pushes his palms into his eyes, feeling them dip into the sockets.

_Not now. Not now._

_Please. Not now._

Wooyoung used to not dream at night, but it seems as if a lot is changing, and he doesn’t like it.

✲

Wooyoung used to dream a lot at night.

He didn’t get a lot of sleep and would often go to school with deep bags under his eyes and skin that looked like it hadn’t seen the sun in years. Kyungmin would rest well, just like any little kid should. Every night, Wooyoung would pray to some kind of higher power that Kyungmin wouldn’t ever develop such harrowing signs of sleepless nights because he doesn’t deserve that.

When Wooyoung would return home, Kyungmin’s eyes would still shine, bagless, with a smile that’s missing a few teeth. It reminds Wooyoung of the childhood he can’t remember all that well, which is so, so odd.

Though Wooyoung doesn’t remember a single dream from his childhood, he knows he used to dream a lot. He would wake up from them in the middle of the night sometimes because they would be bad. He would sneak downstairs to his parents’ room to ask if he could sleep with them, only to find that the bed was empty and he was all alone in the house.

He never knew why.

There had been one night where a dream shook him to his eight-year-old core. Before the tears could spill over, his clumsy little legs took him downstairs where he found his mother at the kitchen table, head above a mug of coffee at almost four in the morning.

His mother was never up that early.

He clutched his Pikachu plushie that was mottled with dirt and watched his mother’s tears drip into her coffee. It looked as if not a single sip was taken from it.

 _“Wooyoungie.”_ Her tone was scary. For a moment, Wooyoung thought she would yell at him. She’d done so before for misbehaving or being too loud. But this was something different, something that eight-year-old Wooyoung couldn’t pick up on. There was a rasp to her voice, _tired_ , like something was digging around in her throat.

_“Eomma?”_

Wooyoung couldn’t remember why he went downstairs in the first place.

 _“Don’t you_ dare _think about falling in love.”_

Wooyoung didn’t know what that meant.

But the image of his mother with kinks and knots in her hair, swollen red eyes and coffee that she never drank, drilled itself into Wooyoung’s brain and bones.

In his eight-year-old innocence and easy compliance he learned from his father, he simply nodded.

 _“Promise me,”_ she’d said.

_“I promise.”_

It was an easy contract to sign. Wooyoung didn’t even need a pen.

He couldn’t remember what was so bad about his dream, and his tears evaporated before they could fall.

✲

“Hey.”

Yunho’s voice sounds like butter, usually. Sometimes, it sounds like pots and pans clanging together, depending on the situation. Here, it sounds like the drawer opening, and someone pulls out a knife in preparation for the murder of Jung Wooyoung.

“Hey,” Wooyoung half-mindedly replies.

“Can I come in?”

 _Weird_ , Wooyoung thinks, _he never asks._

He gives a small nod and Yunho doesn’t even come in all the way. He just closes the door behind him and stands with his back against it.

“How are you?” he asks.

Wooyoung blinks.

“Fine.”

“Are you?”

“What are you doing, Yunho?”

“Being a decent friend,” Yunho answers, possibly sarcastic.

“By asking me how I am?”

“Good friends check up on each other, don’t they?”

_What even makes a good friend?_

Wooyoung shrugs. He’s starting to get a headache.

Yunho sighs then. “Look, I… I just wanna let you know that if you ever wanna talk about stuff, I’m here to listen. I’m not just your roommate. I’m your friend, too, and I hope you know that.”

_I don’t understand why you or anyone would want to be friends with me, but I’m too lazy to deal with repercussions, so I’ll just let whatever happen._

“Okay.”

“Just… you scared me the other week, you know? I care about you, Woo. As weird as you are, I consider you a really close friend, and not just because we fuck from time to time. I don’t know what goes on in your head, but if you just wanna _talk—_ ”

“I don’t really want to,” Wooyoung says, attempting to sound as civil as possible even though the light is blinding, “but thank you for offering.”

Yunho lets out another sigh. “Alright. Just reach out to me if you want to talk, okay?”

“Mhm.”

And Yunho leaves him in the dark.

Yunho walks out and shuts the door. He doesn’t slam it. It clicks nicely into place and there’s nothing obstructing it. It’s just a door closing. It’s just a door.

Somebody would be crying behind it. It would have been about nine years ago. It would have been really early in the morning, when the sun barely peeked over the skyline. It would have been when Wooyoung got out of bed because he had to use the bathroom, and he couldn’t use it because someone was in it. It would have been the day he went to school and didn’t talk to anybody, even his friends, and nobody asked him what was wrong.

Wooyoung would have been thirteen. And he would have kissed that girl at the arcade because she seemed interested enough and everyone else was doing it, but he decided against it because he didn’t feel like it.

He would have felt like something was wrong with him.

Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve.

✲

_Sung Hwanjin._

Wooyoung remembers the face now. Seeing it on a screen helps. Or doesn’t. He’s not sure if it’s helping or not in this case because the pixels on the screen are creating the image of a dead man’s face that Wooyoung somehow forgot.

A dead man.

Dead and gone, drowned, eaten alive, burned to a crisp.

“San.”

“Wooyoung, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“His name was Sung Hwanjin,” Wooyoung says. “He was blond, but he kept his eyebrows black. He would wear a hat to cover his hair. He looks so happy in this picture. I don’t think anyone would’ve guessed he was going to kill himself.”

“Wooyoung…”

“San, I just… I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m like this. I honestly don’t know why I keep calling you whenever my brain gets out of wack, but Yunho’s out and I’m bored and weird and I feel like I’m drowning half the time, and—”

“Hey, hey, slow down. It’s okay.” San’s voice sounds like the glide of fresh gel pens across college-ruled notebook paper. “Do you want me to come over?”

_No. Yes. Please come over. Please don’t come over._

“Up to you.”

“No, Wooyoung.” San’s response takes him aback. “I’m asking you if you want me to come over. It’s a yes or a no.”

Well, this is certainly different.

“Please,” Wooyoung whispers, barely audible, and in a cloud of embarrassment, he hangs up.

His elbows land on the desk with a loud thud. His eyes are in his palms again.

✲

San brings him spicy crab and half-melted orange sorbet.

“I already ate,” San tells him upon entering. “So this is all for you.” He hands the takeout bags to Wooyoung with that same stupid smile.

Wooyoung chews slowly, his mind floating around in a bubble made of mercury. It’s slowly suffocating, just like him. His sorbet is practically soup by the time he gets to it, but he slurps it up anyway. San doesn’t say anything the entire time; he just watches with careful eyes and a one-sixteenth of a smile.

San probably knows that he treads dangerous territory around Wooyoung. Wooyoung wishes it weren’t like that. He knows, he _knows_ that he should talk. It’s obvious to him and San and Yunho and probably even Yeosang that something is off about crazy weird slutty dickhead Jung Wooyoung, and even though he is _literally_ Jung Wooyoung, he still can’t find it in himself to just open his fucking mouth.

Well, that seems to be a first.

“Is there something wrong, Wooyoung-ah?”

Wooyoung scrapes the bottom of his cup even though there isn’t anything left to scoop. “I don’t feel right,” he says.

“Well, what’s right and what’s wrong?” San asks him.

“I keep dreaming, and I normally don’t dream. I keep seeing Hwanjin’s face whenever I see a fucking door. I think I keep remembering shit but at the same time I’m not. My parents are assholes. I don’t fucking know anything anymore.”

San is looking at him like he wants to give him a hug, touch his shoulder, do _something. Please, do_ , Wooyoung wants to say. He wants to open his arms and say _please, hug me, like my parents never did._

“Your parents love you, right?” Wooyoung asks.

“Y-yeah. They do.”

Wooyoung nods approvingly. “They’re good parents.”

“Good is quite a subjective word, but yeah. They are.”

“Better than mine.”

The wind stirs.

“Wooyoung… I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s _wrong_ wrong, you know? I want to do my best to help you. So please, just… talk to me. I don’t care if I’m here all night, or all night tomorrow or the night after that.”

“I will never understand how you’re so nice.”

San laughs humorlessly. “I told you, Wooyoung. I’m just being me.”

Wooyoung wonders what “being me” means.

“Are you anything like San from the S.S. Suffering?”

“Well, that depends. What is San from the S.S. Suffering like?”

“He told me to jump.”

“Then no, I am not like San from the S.S. Suffering.”

Wooyoung chuckles at that. Figures.

“I was on fire,” he says, pressing the rewind button on the tape recorder of his dreams. “And… there was one night that was different. You hugged me from behind, and you caught on fire too. The ocean seemed to get mad and started blasting water at us.”

San stares at him in silence.

“You asked me if I thought you’d hurt me.”

His fingertips burn.

“I said probably.”

The ocean in his stomach is boiling. It’s getting angry again.

“And you said that if I think you will, then you probably will.”

He shuts his eyes.

“Fucking shit.” Throwing his palms over his eyes again, he groans aloud. “Fucking _shit_ , San, I’m sorry. I sound like such a fucking asshole, I’m—”

“Hey.” There are hands around his wrists, _familiar_ , and it burns. Wooyoung almost recoils from the sizzling touch. “You’re fine. You’re not an asshole. Please, Woo, look at me.”

Wooyoung slowly lowers his palms from his face, and San is looking at him with such innocuous eyes that he just wants to turn to dust because he’s _such a fucking asshole for thinking San would hurt him._

_San is going to hurt him. It’s too good to be true. San is too good to be true._

San didn’t force his wrists apart.

“Look, I… I don’t understand your pain because I’m not you. But you said that in the past, your mother was adamant about you not being hurt. Do you think I’m hurting you, Wooyoung? Is that it?”

“No.” Wooyoung can’t help the heartless-sounding laugh that leaves his mouth. “God, no, you’re not hurting me. It’s the complete opposite, actually, and I can’t fucking stand it.”

“Why?” San asks, brows furrowing in genuine confusion.

“It’s not… it’s not supposed to be like this. You were supposed to disappear from my life after we hooked up at the party. We were supposed to go on our merry ways and never see each other again. I was supposed to keep walking the stones with tattered sneakers and a bad back and alcohol for a brain, but it’s like the rulebook the universe gave me in the beginning is being completely rewritten, and I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

San’s grip on his wrists is gentle. So gentle. San is so gentle, and for what? To finally pry his wrists apart and plunge his fist into his chest and crush his heart?

_Stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking._

“Are you afraid of me hurting you?” San asks.

_Afraid._

No, because Wooyoung isn’t afraid of anything.

“No,” he says. “I just don’t get it. I don’t understand how you can be so nice to others but not to yourself. I don’t understand why I keep having these dreams when I went so long without having any. I don’t understand why Hwanjin keeps coming back to my mind when I didn’t even _know_ the guy. And I sure as fuck don’t understand why I keep remembering shit _now_ out of all times.”

_Stop thinking._

They stay like that for a little while. Wooyoung swallows so many lumps that his throat is starting to constrict to the width of an hourglass’s waist. San’s eyes look here there and everywhere, and Wooyoung closes his because he can’t stand to see San.

“Wooyoung.”

San’s voice sounds like a lullaby.

“Like I said, I don’t know your pain or what goes on in your head. And I’m not just talking about the scenarios you think about. But I know that there are a lot of things overwhelming you right now and I want you to know that you don’t have to go through it alone. You have me, you have Yunho, Hongjoong, Yeosang… and I’m pretty sure even Mingi would be willing to talk to you about things. He thinks you’re cool.”

Wooyoung chuckles weakly.

“You don’t have to keep it all in, even if you think you have to. You really, really don’t. Trust me, I _encourage_ you to talk to me, okay? I can’t make you talk, just like I can’t make your pain go away.”

_Pain, huh?_

“Is that what it is?” Wooyoung asks.

Apparently, he doesn’t know his own pain.

After all, being on fire, ripped apart by sharks, and losing his breath to drowning doesn’t seem to hurt. It stands to reason.

“I can’t answer that for you,” San says. “But from the outside, that’s what it seems like. And I don’t like seeing my friends in pain.”

_Which is why you travel two hours to cater to your drunk, idiotic friend._

“I…” San bites his lip and sighs deeply. “I’m here for you, Wooyoung. And I swear, I will do my best not to hurt you.”

Wooyoung’s eyes screw shut. He sees scarlet, and it hurts.

“Maybe you are a little bit like San from the S.S. Suffering after all.”

✲

The next time Wooyoung sees San is under rainbow-alternating lights and there’s no distance between them.

San kisses him slowly, again, and Wooyoung likes it. A lot.

His entire body melts into a puddle of simple syrup that evaporates and forms cotton candy clouds. The rain falls, and the cycle starts again. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Sweet. San tastes so sweet. Like Wooyoung’s favorite orange sorbet and blue cotton candy. San touches him like he means something, like he’s not just some hookup at a party even though that’s what he _should have_ been.

Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve.

He uses just the right amount of tongue, like he’s calculated how much to use in the past. Like he _knows_ Wooyoung inside and out, and that may very well be the case.

Somehow, San is able to make him feel like everything is exploding and imploding at the same time, but it doesn’t hurt. It never hurts with San. Because San is doing his best not to hurt him even though he isn’t fragile and _he doesn’t understand why San is treating him like he will break._

Wooyoung doesn’t know what’s true anymore.

But he remembers what Hongjoong told him.

_“Never stop thinking.”_

_“There’s a threshold.”_

_Find it. Find the threshold_.

Wooyoung’s fingers graze San’s neck, and San moans into his mouth. All the little bumps, the little hills and spot markers on his map, Wooyoung traces them.

“Fuck, _Wooyoung._ ”

Wooyoung presses his lips to the freckles. San braces his hands on Wooyoung’s shoulders and moans again, hips involuntarily bucking forward.

_Stop thinking. Find the threshold._

“Wooyoung, I… _fuck_.”

Wooyoung just hums and squeezes him tighter, sucking the skin of San’s neck into his mouth.

“Is this okay?” he asks before the skin erupts.

“ _Yes_ , god, yes,” San says, and that’s all Wooyoung needs.

He creates his own marker, a big purple stormcloud above the mountains and valleys. He just prays that it doesn’t rain.

✲

One night, while Wooyoung is traveling the vacant walkways of the university campus, he is startled by a very enthusiastic pair of roommates holding a tiny bag of gummy bears.

“Wooyoung, look!” Yeosang exclaims, shoving the bag in his face.

“Okay, gummy bears. And?”

“They’re _special_ gummy bears.” Jongho’s face turns mischievous. “If you catch my drift.”

Wooyoung scoffs and laughs. “Are you going to ask me if I want some? Because the answer will be yes.”

Yeosang easily surrenders the bag. “Jongho got a _ton_ of these, and they’re potent as fuck. Share it with Yunho, yeah? Or San, if you’re still talking to him.”

“Why wouldn’t I be talking to him?”

“I dunno, you seem a little weird about him,” Yeosang says with a shrug. “Anyway, see you!”

The roommates book it, full speed ahead, and Wooyoung wonders if they’re actually on the run from something or someone.

He quickly pockets the bag of gummy bears and speedwalks back to his apartment.

✲

“No no no, pineapple is the best flavor and your argument is invalid.”

“Fuck off, strawberry is where it’s at. But why the fuck is strawberry _green_? If raspberry’s gonna be red, at least make strawberry pink or something, not _green._ ”

“Guys, why are we arguing about the flavors when the bag is literally already gone? Wait a second, how do they manage to infuse weed into gummy bears anyway? I didn’t see any chunks.”

“Dipshit, it’s the THC oil, not the actual weed. Imagine weed chunks in gummies. Fuckin’ nasty.”

“Is it really just the oil?”

“I honestly don’t fuckin’ know. I just like to get high, man.”

“Wait, fuck, where did Yeosang get these?”

“Dunno, he and Jongho just randomly came up to me, gave me a bag, and ran off.”

“Shit.”

Wooyoung’s been told he laughs like a hyena.

He learns tonight that Mingi laughs like an erupting volcano, Yunho laughs like he can’t breathe, and San laughs a lot like him.

Short, shrill titters and squinting eyes. Dimples and a red face.

San tastes like a rainbow that night.

✲

With spring in full swing, Wooyoung spends an afternoon switching out his winter and summer clothes and listens to happy-sounding music from a few of Hongjoong’s previous shows. He spends a little more time outside walking because breathing fresh air actually feels _good_ , he discovers. He still orders hot coffee at the café, however, and meets Hongjoong occasionally.

The semester feels easy. Too easy.

Maybe it’s because his schedule is easing up now that he’s got a majority of his required classes out of the way, or maybe it’s because his body is finally ascending and he’s close to death. Maybe his body’s inner timer is close to going off and he’ll explode into microscopic pieces of slutty dickhead. And people will walk all over his tiny chunks and he’ll be specks of dirt and gum on their feet. Lovely.

At the greenhouse, the garden outside has begun to flourish again, with greenery and flowers that look like genitalia. Seonghwa is watering the plants one day, dressed in a white lab coat for whatever reason. Wooyoung gets he’s an eco major and all that, but does he really need to wear a lab coat to water plants? What if it gets dirty? Seems like more of an inconvenience.

“Hey, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa turns to him, head tilting slightly in confusion before the voice recognition catches up to him. “Oh, Wooyoung! Right?”

“Yeah, the one and only,” Wooyoung answers, chuckling. “How are you?”

“Doing great.” Seonghwa glances over at the leafy bushes he’s watering. He waves the hose as it rains down on the horny plants. “What about you?”

_I think I’m doing okay. I actually wasn’t okay for a while, but I’m doing better, I think. But there’s no way I would tell you that because I don’t know you._

“Good. How’s, uh, work?”

“Boring, as usual,” Seonghwa laments with a sigh, releasing the handle on the hose and stopping the stream. “You might think to yourself, oh, he must do things other than just watering the plants. But no, that’s literally my job. That’s all I do. I water plants. Don’t even fertilize them, or harvest from the university’s agriculture garden, or do testing in the lab if it’s not for a class. My job is. To. Water. Plants.”

Wooyoung looks over at the shrubs Seonghwa has probably grown to hate and blinks. He wonders if the plants love Seonghwa for providing them with the basic necessity for growth.

Well, good thing plants don’t need much more than soil, sunlight, and water.

Humans are a lot trickier to take care of.

And plants don’t talk back. Or feel emotions. Probably.

“So… are you implying that you wish there was more to your job?” Wooyoung asks.

Seonghwa shrugs. “It’s easy work and it pays surprisingly well. _Technically_ , there are supposed to be other parts to my job, like the things I literally just listed, but because my coworkers want all the fun and I’m a bit of a pushover, I’m stuck with watering the plants.”

“Can’t you just talk to them?”

_Wow, what a hypocrite._

Again, Seonghwa shrugs. “Maybe one day. Probably not, though. It’s my last year here anyway.”

Wooyoung laughs internally.

“So how are things with Yeosang?”

Seonghwa smiles instantly. “Things are going great! I, uh, kinda want to ask him to be my boyfriend soon, but I’m not sure if—”

“Do it,” Wooyoung interjects. “Just do it. Save both of you the time and frustration and ask him out, please, for the love of God.”

Seonghwa stares at him blankly before nodding wordlessly.

“Oh, and tell Hongjoong-hyung I said hi!”

And he takes off like the furry blue hedgehog.

✲

**[the gay]**

_HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLYSAI;SHAFSDA SEONGHWA ASKED ME OUT!!!!!!!!_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_yeah i know lol ur welcome_

**[the gay]**

_omg u didn’t_

_i’m so happy omg_

_if i didn’t have a boyfriend now i’d kiss u_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_im good lol_

**[the gay]**

_????_

_thats a surprise, u don’t want a piece of this anymore????_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_trust me yeosangie ur still 10/10 on the fuckable scale_

_but im good_

_happy for u_

**[the gay]**

_thanks honey bunch_

_ur next!! ;)_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_how many times do i have to tell u_

_no._

**[the gay]**

_oh shit, he added a period_

_that’s when u know it’s serious_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_goodnight yeosang_

**[the gay]**

_night wooyoungie mwaaahhh_

_oh also sorry to say but ur fish is still alive_

_heh_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_well shit_

✲

The center of campus smells like rotten coriander sometimes. Wooyoung doesn’t like it, and he either forgets or is too lazy to ask why.

He finds himself sprawled out on one of Yunho’s blankets on a patch of grass, adjacent to a lamppost that he uses to illuminate his drawings.

San bought him colored pencils after he complained about using the gel pens. In exchange, San asked for another ice cream outing, and Wooyoung had no qualms with that because he’s pretty sure he’s becoming dependent on orange sorbet.

Needless to say, they are much more efficient and shading is much easier and effortless.

With it being almost midnight on a Friday night, Wooyoung tunes into Hongjoong’s radio show and considers sleeping out on this blanket.

 _“You all know who The Beatles are, right? Well, here’s a little throwback to their prime. I like their music. But man, fuck John Lennon.”_ Hongjoong laughs. _“Here’s ‘All You Need Is Love.’”_

Wooyoung tears his earbuds out.

“Man, fuck you, Hongjoong-hyung,” he mutters.

**[slutty dickhead]**

_man, fuck you hyung_

**[genius joong]**

_care to tell me why you’re so belligerent all of a sudden?_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_ur music sucks_

_i hate u_

**[genius joong]**

_ah i see what this is about_

_you must not be with san at the moment_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_wtf how did u manage to draw that conclusion_

**[genius joong]**

_he has a tendency to make people… not belligerent_

_and what is truly the cherry on top is that san requested this song_

_so if you’re going to say “fuck you” to someone, say it to san_

_but i bet you won’t do that_

Wooyoung grits his teeth because Hongjoong is absolutely right.

He ends up packing up his shit and returning to his apartment. Yunho is out partying, unsurprisingly, and he’s too damn tired to call San. He showers, eats a bowl of dry cereal, brushes his teeth, and collapses into bed.

He feels his eyelids droop but not much else.

✲

_“Try it.”_

Wooyoung doesn’t recognize this person. It’s an orangey-brown liquid in a hollowed out pineapple. Some fuzzy shadow hand is offering it to him, and he takes it hesitantly. He frowns, sniffing the liquid in the pineapple cup reluctantly. It doesn’t smell like pineapple.

It smells poisonous.

 _“It doesn’t smell good,”_ Wooyoung says. It’s pretty, though. With the pineapple and a hot pink swirly straw and the little toothpick umbrella sticking out from the yellow flesh.

 _“You’ll feel really good once you drink it,”_ Shadow Man says. _“You’ll feel… happy.”_

 _“Here.”_ There’s another shadow man, one with a purple hue and eyes of sanguine trouble. It’s holding a wad of something green. _“Try this too.”_

 _“What do I do with it?”_ Wooyoung asks.

_“God, I keep forgetting this kid is the same age as us.”_

Wooyoung squints. He swears they don’t look like anything.

_“Hey, leave him alone.”_

That’s a voice Wooyoung could recognize anywhere.

_“If he doesn’t want to, don’t make him.”_

San.

The shadow figures blur at the edges. _“What a fucking killjoy. Can’t you see it’s too late for him? He’s never going back. He’s always going to run away from you and come back to us. We won’t let him forget us. You’ll come back to us, right, Wooyoungie?”_

There San is, no shadow to be seen, not even a natural one. In all radiant skin and treasure map neck. There are two purple gems under his left eye that form the shape of a tear. He isn’t on fire.

 _“It’s never too late for anybody,”_ San says. _“And trust me, I won’t let him forget about me either.”_

The two shadow figures disappear, a cacophonous bout of laughter ringing in the ocean breeze before they do. The wad of green drops to the deck, only to disintegrate into atoms upon impact, and the pineapple in Wooyoung’s hands perishes into sand that the wind whisks away.

 _“Are you okay?”_ San asks him.

Wooyoung looks down at his hands. No flames.

_“I think so.”_

_“Thought the answer to that question is always no.”_

Wooyoung blinks at him and his stupid warm smile.

_“I don’t really know anymore.”_

_“So… maybe?”_

Wooyoung clenches and unclenches his fingers. Seagulls chirp happily in the sky that hails cotton candy clouds.

_“Maybe.”_

✲

Hongjoong sends Wooyoung an mp3 file of one of his latest songs on a Wednesday afternoon. Wooyoung listens to it while he’s at the dining hall, praying that Yeosang doesn’t rudely interrupt him.

He really, really likes it.

It’s obvious that Hongjoong takes inspiration from the music and artists that he plays on the station. If Wooyoung didn’t know it was Hongjoong, he would’ve assumed it was some semi-famous indie slash alt pop artist. It makes him smile, knowing that Hongjoong is chasing his dream.

He wishes he knew what his is.

Maybe that would help things. Maybe that would form a permanent seal over the holes. Maybe the mundaneness of life would melt into something grander, something worthwhile, and maybe Wooyoung would snap out of whatever’s making him feel like he’s drowning. Maybe he would stop being such an annoying stick in the mud.

The song Hongjoong sent him is called ‘Rewrite the Rulebook,’ and it’s about taking what you know and flipping everything on its head, punching it in the face, and grabbing the reins, the sticks and stones that litter the ground around you, and unlearning everything you learned in order to make a better future for yourself.

Perhaps the lyrics are all life lessons Hongjoong learned while practically disowned from his family. Wooyoung imagines there would be a lot of those in such a distressing circumstance. He imagines Hongjoong struggled endlessly, and is perhaps still struggling.

He also wonders if Hongjoong somehow read his mind.

**[slutty dickhead]**

_hyung_

_your song_

_it’s amazing_

**[genius joong]**

_ah wooyoungie! glad to hear you liked it_

_it’s still got some kinks in it to work out, but i am happy with it as well_

_i thought a lot about you while writing it_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_really?_

**[genius joong]**

_mhm. you may not think so, but i do believe we have plenty in common_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_i guess i can see that_

_but i wanted to ask you_

_how did you come up with the title of the song?_

**[genius joong]**

_ah, well…_

_you see, sannie isn’t one to go behind people’s backs and divulge information that shouldn’t be dealt_

_in other words, he’s not one for gossip because he respects people and their privacy_

_but he told me that one night you said you felt as if the rulebook the universe gave you is being rewritten, and i guess that really resonated with me. it seemed to resonate with him as well_

_that’s all he said though. trust me, he doesn’t tell me THAT much about you, and if he does, it’s all good things_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_good things, huh?_

**[genius joong]**

_wooyoungie, i promise, you are better than you think you are_

_san sees that in you, as do i_

_you have a brilliant mind. i hope you continue to use it._

_Shit,_ Wooyoung thinks.

Hongjoong used a period. He must be serious.

✲

Wooyoung watches _Titanic_ for the first time with San on San’s laptop, on San’s bed, under San’s stagnant blue lights, while high on Yeosang’s THC gummy bears. He laughs at the scene in the car, with the hand on the window and everything, and snickers like a twelve-year-old when he sees Kate Winslet’s nipple. He laughs at the whole sinking sequence when he feels like he shouldn’t be, but his stoned brain doesn’t think in the same way his sober brain does.

Well, that’s debatable.

But it’s at the end, when Jack is holding onto Rose’s hand and telling her to never let go, that Wooyoung completely loses himself to laughter. San ignores it, for the most part. Even after the movie ends and the laptop is shut, Wooyoung laughs for a solid five minutes, until his lungs are filled with too much air and he feels like drowning again.

“What was so funny?” San asks curiously.

“How long did they even know each other?” Wooyoung screeches.

“Like, two or three days.”

Wooyoung bursts out laughing again. “Fucking hell, they’re idiots! My bet is that, if Jack hadn’t died and they ended up together, they probably wouldn’t have lasted all that long. Jack would’ve cheated on her a bunch of times, and she would have let it happen because she was financially reliant on him. And then, once Jack finally decided to leave, it was only _after_ Rose had her second kid. And Rose probably wouldn’t have lived past eighty like she did. She probably would’ve either drunk herself to death or died of a stress-induced heart attack. Maybe she would’ve killed herself, ‘cause like, wasn’t she about to do that in the beginning anyway?”

Wooyoung’s mouth is dry again.

“I agree that love should be built up over time,” San says. “Their relationship is solely based off of the fact that Jack was her literal saving grace.”

“Exactly!”

“But at the same time, we are outsiders looking in. And because this movie is fiction, we will never know the emotions Jack and Rose felt towards each other. Love is…” San sighs. “Love is complicated.”

Wooyoung groans and stretches out his limbs. “Love doesn’t exist, man.”

“You think?”

“I _know._ ” Wooyoung’s head lolls to the side. “Love is an illusion and nothing but. People convince themselves they’re in love because they want to feel good. When in reality, love is never really good for anybody, and will always come back to bite them in the ass.”

Sugary, THC-filled silence hangs in the blue.

“Hey, Wooyoung.”

“Yeah?”

“Every summer, my family goes on vacation to their summer home on Jeju Island. Wanna come?”

Wooyoung’s head snaps in San’s direction.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Every summer, my family goes on vacation to their—”

“I’m high, not hard of hearing,” Wooyoung says. “But _what_?”

“Well, what do you usually do over the summer?”

“Uh, same thing I do over winter break. Go home to see my aunt and little brother for a few days, possibly my mother, and come back.”

“Well, why don’t you come spend summer break with me and my family? It’s a good time, but it’s gotten more and more boring over the years since it happens _every year._ I feel like it would be a lot more fun if I could spend it with you, you know? Bring some life back into the wonder that is summer vacation, you feel?”

Wooyoung squints at nothing. His heart begins to race. At nothing.

“You have time to decide. And maybe you should decide when we’re both not high.” San chuckles. “But think about it. I’m sure my family would love to have you.”

A family that would love to have him.

That would be a first.

“I’ll think about it,” Wooyoung says.

✲

They don’t fuck that night.

Wooyoung watches San with white toothpaste foam around his lips, toothbrush hanging loosely from his mouth as he wiggles his arms around like some deranged octopus. Instead of Hongjoong’s show, San puts on some top forty hit from the early 2000s, one that Wooyoung might recognize, and dances along to it. It seems as if Yunho is the only friend of his that can dance.

They shower together. They kiss, and that’s it. Wooyoung blames it on being high. Surprisingly, he’s not a very horny high. Which is weird.

When they slip into bed, San smells like mint and raindrops on a cool spring day. The dew doesn’t evaporate from the blazing sun, and the water is tepid and calm.

Wooyoung looks at their arms intertwined. Neither of them are on fire.

“Hey, San.”

“Yeah?”

“Hongjoong-hyung said he named his song after something I said to you.”

It’s as if Wooyoung can feel San’s smile. “Oh, yeah.”

“Did it… make sense to you somehow? ‘Cause I know eighty-seven percent of the shit that comes out of my mouth doesn’t make sense.”

“Mm, more like ninety-seven.” San chuckles lowly and squeezes him tighter. “But… I guess you could say it made sense, yeah. Rewrite the rulebook. Has a nice ring to it.”

“I don’t even know how it makes sense,” Wooyoung murmurs.

“Here’s how I took it. You grew up a certain way, just like I grew up a certain way. You become accustomed to the way things are, at least, the things that you experienced and learned growing up. In a way, you become numb to the things that you’re so used to. That, Wooyoung, is the rulebook. It’s personal and unique to each individual.”

“Mm.”

“But when something happens and you don’t know what to do, you panic. You are forced to open up the seal on that rulebook and scan over each and every thing you wrote down, scribble out some parts, maybe even rip out a few pages. And you rewrite it with the things that you’ve learned. It’s something everyone has to do at some point in their life.”

Wooyoung’s fingers mindlessly stroke San’s chest. It feels warm.

“It’s uncomfortable. Sometimes it feels good, sometimes it hurts. But it’s necessary. One has to go through several drafts before they figure out what works for them. What the pages in their rulebook have to say in order for them to be happy.”

_Happy._

_“Well, then, what do you want to be?”_

_“Happy… I think.”_

“I liked the imagery of it. I liked the idea of flipping through the tens or thousands or millions of pages in one’s rulebook and finding all the spelling and grammatical errors and fixing them. Revising passages that need revision. Undoing and redoing. _Changing._ And to think, Wooyoung, you came up with that all on your own.”

San puts his hand over Wooyoung’s. It’s warm, just like the rest of him.

“You don’t make sense a lot of the time. Not to me, sometimes not to yourself. But you think what you think for _reasons._ It’s not just mindless banter or things you come up with to sound delusional or some weird attempt at humor. You’re intelligent, creative, bold… you’re a lot of things I wish I was.”

Wooyoung almost scoffs, but San holds his hand tighter.

“I know you always ask why I would want to be friends with someone like you,” he says. “But sometimes, you don’t _need_ to ask why. Sometimes, you just need to let it happen. It’s a weight off your shoulders when you learn to stop asking why and learn to accept instead.”

San’s breathing is calm just like the ocean. The water isn’t seething anymore.

“Forgive me if I sound too sentimental. I blame it on Yeosang’s weed bears.”

Wooyoung laughs lightheartedly, feeling San’s fingers slip in between his.

“Thank you for being here with me, Wooyoung.”

“Why are you thanking me?”

San shrugs.

“I just like being with you. So thank you for allowing me to.”

Wooyoung can’t help the smile that surfaces on his face.

“Thank you for understanding… or trying to understand me,” Wooyoung whispers. “It feels good knowing that I’m not totally insane.”

“If you’re insane, everyone’s insane,” San says, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “We’re all just trying to get by, you know? But we should feel good while we’re doing so. And in order to do so, we have to rewrite the rulebook plenty of times before we find the answer to what we are.”

“Where do I start?” Wooyoung asks.

“You start at the beginning.”

San releases Wooyoung’s hand and points at the ceiling, one that has nothing on it but the reflection of blue light. “You start from your earliest memory.” He draws what looks like a box of sorts. “Then you take another. And another. Stack them like building blocks, draw lines from point to point, whatever works for you. Take your lessons, the five senses, the good and the bad, and think to yourself, ‘Who was I at this point in time? What did I want to be?’ And you calculate the change. Use equations and do the math. Find how and why you changed in between each point. And bam, you learn and are one step closer to completing your perfected rulebook.”

San’s squares turn into swirls, and he bursts out into snorts of laughter. “Sorry, I have no idea what I just said. I’m too high for this shit. Yeosang was right, those things are potent as fuck.”

“It’s okay.”

Wooyoung’s tongue feels loose for once. He can speak.

“You made sense. I’m just a little too high to actually think about shit right now, but you made sense. And thank you. For making not-sense. Like me.”

“What the fuck are we saying?” San asks, giggling.

“Bro, I have no idea.”

And they laugh just like that, to the sound of seagulls and peaceful ocean waves. To the sound of rustling paper and gel pens gliding across it.

_Scribble. Scribble._

_Criss cross._

_X marks the spot._

_Find the threshold._

Wooyoung looks up at San’s neck.

“Your neck is like a treasure map,” he says.

But San is already asleep, face blue under the light, just like the ocean.

Wooyoung is drowning, but it’s not water he’s drowning in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)


	7. sudden burst of sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choi San was said to have been born with too much love for others and not enough for himself.
> 
> It seems as if I, Jung Wooyoung, was born with none at all.
> 
> But it’s okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter gets fluffier and smuttier! with a few instances of angst
> 
> warnings for family and mental health issues and brief mention of self harm. oh. and emotions.
> 
> I also broke dialogue grammar rules by using caps lock during one of the scenes. but hey, it helped get the point across
> 
> brought to you by 'accidentally in love' by counting crows

Midterms. Dreaded testing once again. Except Wooyoung feels pretty good this time around.

He remembers the previous semester, when he’d gotten so frustrated he let his head hit his textbook (a fairly common occurrence among college students, Wooyoung feels, but that’s not the point). Despite the frustration, Wooyoung did well on all of his fall semester midterms and happened to meet Choi San at a party following that miserable week.

This time, he’s okay. He’s studying calmly while he takes notes with his black gel pen. There’s no groaning or moaning or screaming, just the sound of the tip tapping of a keyboard and the crisp turning of pages. And the gel pens. Sexy, sexy gel pens.

His work load this semester is actually a lot less rigorous than the last, so maybe that has something to do with it as well. With how oddly relaxed he is, he gets through the week of midterms mostly unscathed, apart from when he took Yeosang’s skateboard out for another ride and fell again, landing on and scraping up his arm a bit.

Wooyoung is well aware of the wild parties that occur whenever something celebratory happens; in this case, it’s the celebration of the end of midterms. That had been the party that Wooyoung met San at, back in the fall. He knows Yunho and Mingi are going. He even watches Yunho getting ready.

And not once does Yunho ask if he wants to go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Or not,” his roommate says as he throws on his university hoodie.

“Have fun, don’t catch feelings!” Wooyoung calls out.

He catches his tongue when he feels _“Oh, and by the way, Mingi might have a massive crush on you!”_ tugging on it.

Yunho winks at him before heading out. Wooyoung doesn’t follow.

Instead, he sighs and reclines back in his desk chair, eyes closing blissfully.

**[sanshine]**

_hey, mingi’s going to the big end of midterm party with yunho. you going or_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_nah im tired, just wanna relax tonight_

_come over if u want_

**[sanshine]**

_dont have to tell me twice!!_

✲

There are no fancy fairy lights to accompany them this time, just the slow, oddly sensuous music of Hongjoong’s radio show. Wooyoung feels sort of guilty knowing that there isn’t much he can do for San (and it always seems to be that way in every single aspect, goddammit), but adhering to his request of fucking him is something he can do.

It’s a little weird, when Wooyoung thinks about it. He’s been inside plenty of girls before. The only guy he’s ever been inside of is San.

San, for some reason, loves it. He tells Wooyoung to go harder, which is something he isn’t used to (surprisingly, since he’s given himself the title ‘slutty dickhead,’ so he _should_ be pretty well-versed in the whole shabang). And because there is nobody else in the apartment besides the maybe-ghost, San is absolutely shameless in the way he speaks and moans.

Wooyoung has never, _ever_ had sex quite like this before.

Not with someone so enthusiastic and bold. Someone who seems to be really _into_ it. Sure, Wooyoung’s had a few good hookups, but none of them were quite _memorable._ He never bothered to learn their names, and if he did, he didn’t bother to remember them.

And then there’s Choi San.

Choi San, who should’ve been a stranger by now. Who should’ve continued walking his own stones and carried on with his own fortunate life. Who loves having sex with Wooyoung to this day. And they met several months ago. And he’s still around.

_He’s still around._

He’s still around, grounding Wooyoung to him like this. Holding him like this, with arms locked behind him, biting his ear and telling him to go _harder._ His moans are a godsend, _just like the rest of him._

“Wooyoung, I—”

San’s grip on Wooyoung’s back loosens, finally allowing Wooyoung to come back up, only to clash his lips to San’s.

There’s a pair of hands on his chest, gently pushing on him. “Wait,” San says, and Wooyoung comes to a stop immediately.

“What, what’s wrong?”

_Sounds familiar._

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” San grins mischievously. “Here.”

He continues pushing Wooyoung until Wooyoung pulls out entirely, only to roll over onto his elbows and knees in the middle of the bed. “Like this. Fuck me like this.”

Wooyoung feels his soul leave his body at that very moment. It flutters up to the ceiling and skyrockets off of the grooves, playing pinball in the room until it slaps him back in the face, snapping him back to reality, being that Choi San has his ass on full display like this.

“Fuck, okay.”

He runs the tip of his cock over San’s outstretched hole before pushing back inside, eliciting a breathy whine from the man beneath him.

“So fucking _good_ , holy shit,” San groans, back arching and hips wiggling back in an attempt to feel even more of Wooyoung stretching him out. “Fuck me, oh my _god_.”

Wooyoung does his best to deliver, with powerful movements of his hips, hands planted on San’s ass as he thrusts into him. San’s face is pressed onto his side, but Wooyoung can still see the bliss in it. His hands are palms-down on the mattress on either side of his face, occasionally clutching the sheets so hard that Wooyoung can see the wrinkles in them.

“Wooyoung…” San’s voice is only slightly hesitant. “Pull me up by my hair.”

 _Why?_ Wooyoung is about to ask, but he stops himself.

_Why would you want me to hurt you?_

Somewhere on the S.S. Suffering, Wooyoung is on fire again, but San is with him, body engulfed in flames as well.

 _“I trust you,”_ that San says.

Wooyoung does as he’s told.

The noise that leaves San’s mouth in that moment is unlike anything Wooyoung has heard before. A sharp, shrill cry, followed by an obscene string of moans.

“ _Fuck_ , Wooyoung! J-just like that, _fuck_ —”

With one hand tangled in San’s midnight locks, Wooyoung wraps his other around San’s front, splaying his hand out on his chest.

“Like this?” Wooyoung teases right next to his ear.

“ _Yes,_ ” San cries, raising his own arm and enclosing it around Wooyoung’s head, holding him against his neck.

_This position seems familiar. Have we been like this before?_

Wooyoung presses sloppy kisses to San’s nape as San cranes his head, catching Wooyoung’s lips in quite the awkward position, but how could Wooyoung care?

_This position is so fucking familiar. I swear we’ve been like this before. But where?_

The hand in San’s hair drops to his cock instead, wet from leaking, and San keens into Wooyoung’s mouth at the sudden touch. “W-Wooyoung, I’ll… I’m gonna come if you—”

“Then come,” Wooyoung practically growls, the hand on San’s chest rising to the base of his neck.

“N-no, wait.”

Wooyoung stops immediately. Again.

San moves forward slightly, removing himself from Wooyoung’s cock. “Can I… um, can I come in your mouth?” he asks timidly, turning around.

_After all the shit I’ve made you do, that’s the least I can do._

“Yeah.”

Wooyoung is the one to get on his elbows this time, leveling his face with San’s cock. San holds his hair with a featherlight grip and guides his cock into his mouth, letting out a loud moan once Wooyoung’s wet heat closes around it.

“ _Fuck_ , Wooyoung… I love y—your mouth.”

Wooyoung hums around San’s cock, swiping his tongue along the underside, hollowing his cheeks. The hand in his hair tightens. “Fuck, ‘m gonna come, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung moans a wordless plea, _please, come in my mouth, I want you to make you feel good because I can’t really do anything else_ , and takes in every drop San gives him, the hand in his hair tighter than before, and San’s head is tilted back in ecstasy. He swallows as he pulls off, smacking his lips before landing back on his ass with a sigh.

San is on him in an instant, but he only resists, turning his head. He’s met with San’s confoundment, but because San is a good fucking person, he removes himself and gives Wooyoung a confused look. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” Wooyoung says with what might be a reassuring smile. “I don’t wanna come.”

“You’re shitting me, right?” San asks incredulously.

Wooyoung shrugs. “No, I’m really not.” He chuckles and peels the condom off his dick, mourning just a little bit.

 _It’s the least I can do,_ he thinks. San has done it for him before, so why can’t he?

It’s pathetic. _He’s_ pathetic.

“I-if you say so,” San says, unconvinced.

It doesn’t feel right.

When San is holding him that night, Wooyoung realizes what’s going on.

San had sacrificed so much time for him of his own volition. He had been kind to Wooyoung because that’s who he _is._ Wooyoung, on the other hand, is doing this out of _guilt_ , because why the hell would Choi San want anything to do with someone like him?

His body shrivels inward, clutching San’s body tighter.

“Wooyoung-ah?” San’s soft voice cuts through the silence. “Is everything okay?”

_No, not really. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you’re wasting your time on me._

“H-hey, um, remember when you asked me if I wanted to go with you to Jeju Island for summer break?”

“Yeah.”

“If the offer is still on the table… I’ll go.”

San is quick to turn, and Wooyoung watches his eyes light up, a passionate flame burning beneath those eyes of his. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Wooyoung chuckles. “Is it alright with your parents, though?”

“Oh, yeah. I told them about you over winter break and _they_ were the ones who put the offer out there. So yeah, they’re okay with it.”

San is smiling again, deep dimples and all, under the bland, incandescent lighting of Wooyoung’s bedroom with Hongjoong’s sensual tunes as their background noise now.

 _“Alright lovebirds, I hope you enjoyed that little segment. Hopefully those songs got you in the mood… or enhanced it.”_ Hongjoong giggles deviously. _“Now back to your regularly scheduled programming…”_

Wooyoung shoots a spiteful look at the Bluetooth speaker.

If looks could kill, that poor device would be blown to smithereens.

✲

“Let me get this straight,” Yeosang says, popping the satirically penis-shaped lollipop that he got from Wooyoung’s sex shop out of his mouth, “you’re going to Jeju Island with San for summer break? Alone?”

“Well, no. He and his family go every year, and he invited me.”

Yeosang looks over at Jongho, who’s mindlessly rolling a joint. “What’s your take, Jongho-yah?”

The youngest shrugs. “Seems like honeymoon to me.”

Wooyoung groans at the same time Yeosang bursts out laughing. “See, Wooyoungie! I swear, I’m not the only one who sees you and Sannie as more than just friends.”

“Wait, they’re not together? I thought they were,” Jongho says.

“We’re _not_ ,” Wooyoung asserts through a clenched jaw.

“But they might as well be,” Yeosang comments. “He doesn’t do _feelings._ ”

Jongho nods, his face locked deep in thought. “I see, I see.”

“Can’t you just _leave it_?” Wooyoung has his face in his hands. Both Yeosangs, the real and the fantastical, are laughing at him.

_So pathetic._

“Come on, Woo—”

“Hey,” Jongho suddenly says, catching both of them off guard. Wooyoung lifts his head, frowning in confusion. “If he doesn’t want you to talk about it, don’t talk about it. Leave him be.”

With a deep inhale, Wooyoung shakes his head and rises to his feet slowly, applauding the young heterosexual who has proven himself to be _more_ than cool in his book now.

Yeosang scoffs with a roll of his eyes. He stands up, lips red and swollen from the dick lollipop and appearing as if he’d just finished sucking an _actual_ dick. But then he’s grabbing his jacket and announcing, “Well, I’m off to blow my boyfriend. Later, assholes,” seemingly forgetting that Wooyoung isn’t exactly _friend_ friends with Jongho and leaving him in the apartment with him.

Blinking at nothing, Wooyoung turns back to Jongho, who’s lighting the end of his joint. “Uh… thanks for that, Jongho-yah.”

Jongho takes a puff as soon as the end his lit and exhales with a shrug. “You’re welcome. I get it. Must be tiring, getting pressured by Yeosang into talking about shit you don’t wanna talk about.”

“Yeah, he’s… yeah.”

Jongho shrugs again. “Well, considering I’ve been good friends with Yeosang for who knows how many years, I know what he’s like. Imagine living with him.” He coughs lightly and rolls his eyes. “He’s a big gossiper. And, like, no offense, but you seem like you’ve got a lot of shit on your plate that you don’t really wanna talk about. And no offense to Yeosang, but he isn’t the best person to be telling your deepest darkest secrets to.”

Wooyoung can see exactly what he means.

“No offense taken,” Wooyoung says with an amused grunt.

Jongho is completely right.

It _is_ tiring, to be pestered into talking about things that he doesn’t want to talk about. But said things are things he probably _should_ talk about for the sake of his sanity. However, Jongho raised the good point of, it’s _Yeosang._ Probably not the best person to confide in.

“I’m not good with emotions either,” Jongho admits, holding out the joint to Wooyoung as an offer. Wooyoung just shakes his head, and Jongho takes another hit, quickly exhaling. He says, “Feelings are overrated.”

“Yeah.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re bad, though.”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow at him.

“See, I’m the kind of guy who feels emotions only if they’re absolutely necessary. It’s not even a conscious thing; it’s the way I am. It’s weird, I know. But basically, unless it’s something that makes me happy, I kinda… put it away. Don’t let it bother me. And the bad feelings go away, usually.”

“Usually.”

“Well, yeah. But I mean bad feelings that are _useless_. Like, getting upset over a bad quiz grade, or being mad that a friend isn’t texting you back, or being annoyed that a barista made your drink wrong. If the bad feeling helps me learn a thing or two, then yeah, I’ll let myself feel those things. Sometimes bad feelings are an essential to living a good life, man.”

“You literally just contradicted yourself.”

Jongho brandishes his joint like a sword in Wooyoung’s direction. “Hey, watch your tone, young man. I give you those gummy bears for _free_ , you know.”

Shit. He got Wooyoung there.

“I’m literally older than you, though,” Wooyoung points out.

Jongho sticks the joint back in his mouth and says, “Until you can beat me in an arm wrestle, no you’re not.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes and imagines one of them rolling out of its socket and onto the floor like a poor meatball.

✲

Wooyoung is at work, sucking on a bright red strawberry-flavored penis-shaped lollipop, when a brief shadow appears at the top of his vision. He glances up from the memes on his phone just in time to see someone dart to the butt stuff section. He looks over at Jiyoung, who shrugs.

He’s the one to stand up because _you’re more well-versed in that stuff, Wooyoung-ah_ , and is met with a familiar, towering frame that almost resembles Yunho.

Almost.

“Mingi?”

Mingi jumps out of his fucking skin. “Fucking— _fuck_ , Wooyoung!”

“What, surprised to see me? Thought you knew I worked here.” Wooyoung’s eyes briefly land on the wall behind him, the wall displaying _all_ the butt stuff—plugs, dildos, beads, lube, you name it. And Mingi is standing directly in front of it.

“Y-yeah, I did! Just… uh, didn’t expect to see you.”

“This place is literally run by me and my lovely coworker. Actually just her most of the time. But that aside, something I can help you find?”

Mingi’s eyes flit from side to side, mouth twitching with words he knows he probably shouldn’t say. Words like, _“I actually might be kinda gay for Yunho. Or gay in general. Or curious. Or I just want to try having stuff up my butt. Help.”_

“I… uh…”

“It’s okay, Mingi-yah.” Wooyoung pats his shoulder firmly, giving him a reassuring nod. “This is a judgement-free zone. Clearly.” He glances over to his left, where the more _extreme_ section of the store resides.

(Dragon dildos, fucking machines, sex swings and cages… those kinds of things.)

Mingi’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. It’s massive, Wooyoung notices. Not surprising, considering his voice.

“Uh… Wooyoung, y-you kinda caught me at a bad time, so maybe I’ll just—”

“You don’t have a crush on Yunho, do you?”

“What? No! No, no, I…”

Wooyoung raises his eyebrow again, sticking out his hip this time, and he watches Mingi deflate like a gay panicked balloon. “I… don’t know,” the taller finally answers.

And that’s how Wooyoung finds himself on the therapist end with Jiyoung. Behind the counter, they listen to Mingi’s frantic ramblings about _maybe_ being gay, or being bi, or just being infatuated with Yunho. He doesn’t give them time to _speak_ , so they sit there and listen, remaining undisturbed since this sex shop isn’t exactly the most bustling place out there.

“And I know absolutely _nothing_ about gay sex. Like, how does it even _work_? I watched some gay porn, but it just looked… weird? Like, nothing against butt stuff, really. But how does it _fit_? I get you use lube and everything, but doesn’t it fucking _hurt_? What if I end up hooking up with Yunho and he expects me to—”

“Whoa, hold on there, buddy.” Wooyoung finally stops him, a racecar traveling at a hundred miles an hour screeching to a halt. “Why do you want to jump straight into sex? I think figuring out your _feelings_ is a lot more important than worrying about whether Yunho is gonna fuck you or not.”

Mingi visibly winces. Wooyoung does so internally, because _wow, I just sounded like a huge hypocrite there._

“God, fucking hell, Woo, you’re right.” Mingi laughs pitifully, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know. I always knew Yunho wasn’t straight, but the other day he told me he was gay, and I don’t have a problem with that… obviously. If anything, it’s making _me_ question me and _my_ feelings.”

“Well, what do you feel?” Wooyoung asks. Even Jiyoung leans forward, seemingly engaged in the conversation.

“Well… I mean, I don’t know. I, like, kinda wanna kiss him? But I don’t wanna be weird. I’ve been friends with him for so long, and I think it would be kinda weird if I just went, ‘hey, can you kiss me?’”

“Dude, do you _know_ Yunho?” Wooyoung laughs incredulously. “He’s literally one of the most open-minded guys out there. Don’t tell him I told you this, but we used to fuck.”

“Used to?”

_Used to? They stopped fucking?_

_Why?_

_Wait. Why did they stop fucking?_

“Uh… yeah. We had this whole friends with benefits thing going on. And it literally started because we jokingly talked about making out with each other. We did, and then it became not a joke.”

Mingi stares at him blankly, plump lips parted in surprise. “So yeah, if you asked Yunho to kiss you, he definitely would,” Wooyoung confirms. Jiyoung adds a totally unnecessary nod. “And if that happens, maybe _then_ think about taking things further. But really, you have nothing to worry about. Yunho is a great guy, super open. You can talk to him about anything.”

_You can talk to him about anything._

_“Then why don’t you?”_ Yunho asks, hot pink sunglasses with blue lenses perched on his head. He’s frowning, something that Wooyoung _hates_ seeing on him. The sun is blinding, again, and Wooyoung wants to scream _put on your sunglasses!_ But Yunho just keeps frowning, frowning, frowning until his mouth falls off and his eyes start smoking.

 _“Wooyoung! I just want you to talk to me! Why can’t you just talk?”_ Yunho’s detached mouth screams from the deck.

“Y-yeah,” Mingi says, snapping Wooyoung out of the S.S. Suffering. “Yeah, he’s… really great. You’re right. I, uh… thanks, Wooyoung-ah.”

“No problem.”

Wooyoung gives him a free penis-shaped lollipop before he leaves otherwise emptyhanded. It’s green apple.

Jiyoung looks at Wooyoung suspiciously once Mingi’s gone, her eyebrow with a slit raised, and Wooyoung feels like the point of her winged eyeliner is stabbing him in the chest. “What?” he says defensively.

His coworker takes a deep breath and shakes her head, appearing almost disappointed.

“Your friends, man. You must live a hell of an exciting life.”

“I don’t know if exciting is the right word to use there.”

“At least there’s action, y’know? You’re not just some lump of coal waiting to be incinerated. You have friends and shit that goes on in your life.” Jiyoung reaches down behind the counter and pulls out a penis-shaped lollipop for herself. Grape, ew. “I hope you’re fucking grateful, kid.”

“You’re not that much older than me, shut up,” Wooyoung grumbles.

“Kid,” Jiyoung reiterates, sticking the lollipop past her already purple lips.

✲

When Wooyoung tells his aunt about his plans to go to Jeju Island with San, she’s ecstatic. To be honest, Wooyoung had no idea what her reaction would be like, but considering she was the one who encouraged him to go to university just to _get away_ , he’s not entirely surprised by her excited tone.

“How’s Kyungmin doing?” he asks.

“He’s doing just fine, Wooyoungie. He’s such a smart cookie, just like his brother.”

Wooyoung contains a scoff.

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

After a few shuffling noises and a “Kyungmin-ah! It’s your hyung!”, a chirpy nine-year-old screams, “Hi hyung!”

“Hey, Kyungminie! How are you?”

“I’m good! Imo says you’re going on vacation with your friend!”

“Y-yeah. Is that… is that okay with you?”

“Of course, hyung! I miss you a lot, but I know you’re super duper busy. You must be working really hard!”

“Ha, yeah, of course, bud. Always working hard.”

A sad smile appears on Wooyoung’s face, and it’s a good thing Kyungmin isn’t there to see.

“Well, I hope you have fun with your friend! My friends are really cool, I’m going to see them later at the park. We’re gonna play soccer!”

“Sounds fun, buddy. How’s Pikachu?”

“Oh, he’s awesome! He beat Mewtwo yesterday, can you believe it?”

Wooyoung laughs, his smile widening. “That’s awesome, bud! Hey, you have fun with your friends later, okay? And don’t get into any trouble!”

“No promises, hyung!”

_Just like his older brother._

Wooyoung leaves it at that. As usual, his aunt tells him to call if he needs anything, and he says that he will. But he almost never really _needs_ anything, not from her, because he’s been enough of a burden on her.

The only thing he can do for her is keep working. Keep going. Keep walking those stones even though they’re stabbing his feet, leaving blood and blisters, and he’s so fucking _tired_ , but he has to keep going. For her. For Kyungmin.

_“Don’t let this hold you back.”_

Wooyoung shuts his eyes, wishing he could glue them together and sleep forever.

 _“Please, come back safe, hyung!”_ Kyungmin’s voice echoes from the harbor. _“We’ll be waiting!”_

His aunt and brother are waving in wide strokes, tears falling from their eyes and onto the stones as they watch Wooyoung depart on an indefinite journey.

 _“They love you so much, I hope you realize that,”_ an unidentifiable voice tells him. When he looks around, there is nobody. No San, no Yunho, no shadow people to be seen.

_“You love them, don’t you?”_

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says aloud. “I sure fucking do.”

✲

The raspberry sorbet just isn’t as good as the orange. It doesn’t have that citrusy tang to it. Plus, if Wooyoung were to eat it from the hollowed-out pineapple, it would work, since it’s all tropical and shit. Still, Wooyoung eats it because San treated, _again._

San is humming along to a song Hongjoong is playing on his show, some soft instrumental with plucked acoustic guitar strings in swift successions, accompanied by mellow vocals upon vocals. Wooyoung doesn’t understand a word, but it has his head rocking side to side. He feels like he’s in the tropics, near a waterfall. In a small boat instead of a big one, while San is across from him, manning the oars.

“I love this song,” San says. “Don’t know the lyrics, but the melody is really pretty.”

“With the way he’s singing, I feel like it would be hard to understand him even if he were singing in Korean,” Wooyoung jokes.

San laughs that golden laugh and leans into Wooyoung’s shoulder. Above them, there is a single lamppost that is enough to illuminate San’s best features, and probably Wooyoung’s worst ones. There are a few students walking about, probably leaving their night classes.

“Hey, I’m thinking of getting a tattoo,” San says suddenly.

“Yeah? What do you wanna get?” Wooyoung asks.

“I’m not entirely sure yet. Which brings me to ask you, if you were to get a tattoo, what would _you_ get?”

Wooyoung purses his lips in thought. “I think it would be kind of hilarious to tattoo my weird thoughts onto my skin.”

San shrugs, face entirely unperturbed. “Well, why not? That would be pretty cool, if you ask me.”

“Yeah? Having a shark therapist tattooed on my ass sounds cool?”

“Oh _fuck_ yeah, you know how sexy it would be while I’m fucking you and I’m just staring a shark therapist dead in the eyes? I’d come in record time.”

Wooyoung bursts out laughing, his own head falling into San’s.

“I think… maybe I’d get a tattoo of a book. Or a camera. Something that is a part of me, you know?” San says.

“If I were to go by that, I think I’d get a tattoo of a bong or something.”

San lets out a half chuckle. “There’s more parts to you than just that, you know. Like… what about the hourglass?”

“The hourglass?”

“You were so worried you would break it. Do you think you broke it?”

Wooyoung frowns, confused, and looks up at him. Somehow, San looks like he’s smiling all the time, whether it be one whole, one half, a quarter, an eight, sixteenth, thirty-second… there’s just something about San that makes it look like he’s infinitely _happy_ , and Wooyoung wonders just how the fuck he manages to do that.

There are no dimples. But Wooyoung can see in the close-up, zoomed in all the way, that there’s a minuscule raise at the corner of San’s mouth.

“I don’t… think so,” Wooyoung says. “I mean, maybe. But I always patch it up. If I let too much sand spill out, I wont have as much time.”

San nods, smile expanding ever so slightly.

“You know, Wooyoung. It feels like I have all the time in the world with you. Like my hourglass is in an infinite loop. You don’t even need to flip it; the sand goes right back up.”

He straightens his head, and Wooyoung is the one to fall into his shoulder this time. Wooyoung is looking up at the night sky that actually isn’t entirely black, decorated with countless stars.

San points a finger at Wooyoung’s wrist and draws a shape.

“An hourglass. You should get one. Then, you wouldn’t be able to break it.”

Wooyoung snorts in amusement, thinking that he _technically_ could. But he glances down at San’s legs, back up at San, and discards the thought entirely.

✲

Wooyoung is right about to enter stage one of the sleep cycle when he hears a thud, a click, and a “Wooyoung! Wake up!”

Wooyoung jolts awake, expecting Yunho to throw him out the window because there’s an intruder or something, and while he’s met with Yunho pouncing onto his bed, he’s also met with Yeosang, Jongho, San, and Mingi poking their heads through his bedroom door.

“What the _fuck_ , Yunho? I was just about to—”

“Sleep is for the fucking weak. Come _on_ , it’s our last Thursday together before we go on summer break!”

“Thursdays are not meant to be celebrated!”

“Well this one is! Come on, up we go!”

Wooyoung is literally kicking and screaming as Yunho lifts him up and throws him over his shoulder like he weighs nothing. He doesn’t even give him time to change.

“Where the fuck are we even _going_?” Wooyoung asks, strained as he’s bent over Yunho’s shoulder.

“Anywhere and everywhere, darling,” Yeosang responds.

In a car meant for five, the six of the pile into Yunho’s expensive ass car like a pack of wolves, and Yunho drives.

“Hongjoong-hyung!” San shouts over the sound of Yunho and Mingi cheering. Wooyoung hadn’t even realized San had called him. “I request that you play those really upbeat songs that they play in every single coming of age movie! You know, the ones that play when the main character is driving down the highway with an open window and they realize that their struggles have all led up to this one moment of bliss and they feel really happy? Yeah, play a bunch of those! Love you, bye!”

Still groggy from the almost-sleep, Wooyoung squints through his struggling eyelids to view the time. Fifteen minutes before two in the morning.

San connects his phone to Yunho’s Bluetooth radio, where Hongjoong’s voice makes its appearance.

_“Well, I just got a request from this lovely listener of mine. Here’s a few songs from my ‘angsty coming of age movies’ playlist. Hope you enjoy.”_

“ _Woo_!” Yunho cheers, pumping his fist out of his open window. “ _Fuck yeah, we’re so fucking stupid_!”

Mingi is laughing his ass off in the passenger’s seat. Actually, everyone is laughing their ass off, except Wooyoung, who’s still trying to process what the fuck is going on.

“San, what the fuck is going on?” Wooyoung asks.

“This is how Yunho and Mingi celebrate their feelings,” San whispers, beaming.

Yunho drives to some empty highway. Wooyoung might have seen it before; he’s not sure. But as hearty drum beats and acoustic-electric guitars blast from the speakers, Wooyoung understands.

Yunho rolls down the top of the car, leaving all of their heads exposed to any rain that may come their way. Wooyoung looks up to the blanket of stars, their umbrellas, and when he looks down, Yunho has one hand on the steering wheel and his lips on Mingi’s.

“Holy shit,” Wooyoung mumbles to himself, eyes widening. “Holy _shit_! He actually fucking did it!”

“This is so fucking dangerous!” Jongho yells to the wind, laughing.

Mingi pulls away with a loud smack of the lips. “Hey, just so you guys know, there is nobody else I’d rather get arrested with! I love you guys!”

“I love you too, Mingi-yah!” San shouts over the sound of wind and words that none of them understand.

“Love you!” Yeosang and Jongho add.

Yunho doesn’t say it back. Instead, he’s holding Mingi’s hand above the gear shift, and he presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

_So this is love, huh?_

Familiar fingers slide into the spaces between Wooyoung’s, and Wooyoung watches as San clicks open a black gel pen and draws the shape of an hourglass just below his right thumb. San’s smile is blinding beneath the traffic lights and tunnel vision, wearing a one hundred percent smile, and there is a purple teardrop beneath his left eye. His eyes reflect the wondrous sights of the wind in their hair and the golden tunnel stars shining on their faces.

He unclicks his seatbelt and stands up, arms spread wide as if he were a bird, and his jacket flies back in the wind, just like wings.

“ _I’m king of the wooooorld_!” he announces to the universe. Jongho and Yeosang are doubled over in laughter.

Wooyoung stares up at him and all of his triumphant, mischievous glory, and even though the wind is beating down on his eyes, San has never looked so clear.

✲

Wooyoung wakes up to the sound of his alarm blaring. He has one more final to get through. His hair is mussed, his throat is dry, and the space below his right thumb is missing something. Not a smudge to be seen.

✲

**[yuunhoe]**

_hey, have fun with sannie! take some pictures for me_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_lol photography is definitely more up san’s alley but i can try_

_also, im real happy for u and mingi_

**[yuunhoe]**

_?? wdym_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_oh shit_

_completely disregard that_

_sorry im very confused at the moment_

_im kind of losing touch with reality but it’s fine nbd_

**[yuunhoe]**

_uhhh ok_

_well if u need anything, u have my number_

_love u_

**[slutty dickhead]**

_love u too i guess_

✲

Wooyoung doesn’t think he’s been on vacation. Like, ever. Never gone to the beach, never been on a plane. But now he’s with San, thousands of feet above ground, and he can’t stop staring out the window at an endless sunset sky and cottony clouds. There’s a child crying somewhere onboard, but he couldn’t care less.

Just as Yunho had told him to, he takes a picture.

“I never thought I’d see the sky from up here,” Wooyoung murmurs to himself. “It’s really pretty.”

“It really is.”

Wooyoung turns to smile and San, but of course, San is already smiling.

“The umbrellas… they’re everywhere,” Wooyoung whispers.

“What color are they?” San asks.

“Every.”

San chuckles and snaps a photo of his own, over Wooyoung’s head.

✲

San’s parents are already there to greet them at the airport, and Wooyoung can instantly see the resemblance. Like the genes were split a perfect fifty-fifty. It makes Wooyoung wonder which parts of San’s personality came from his mother, and which came from his father.

Wooyoung ignores the shudder that spikes down his spine when he thinks about himself for a split second.

“Oh, you must be Wooyoung!” San’s mother reaches out to take Wooyoung’s hands, bowing, he can see that the warm eyes and smile of San’s are definitely hers. “It’s so great to finally meet you, Sannie’s told us a lot about you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well!” Wooyoung greets the father with a bow as well, attempting to put on his best smile because _how the fuck has he never done this before?_

How has he never met the parents of his friends?

_Who even were his friends?_

“Well, come on, then!” San’s mother chirps, ushering them out the doors and into the car. “San-ah, have you planned anything for tonight?”

“Wha—eomma, no!” San laughs brightly, his enthusiasm greatly resembling hers already. “We have the whole summer, after all. I think we might just stay in, maybe go to the beach at most.”

“Okay, okay. I’m just so happy you brought a friend along! Sannie’s never brought a friend, even though we always told him he was welcome to back in high school.”

The smile. It’s the same.

So warm. So welcoming.

It makes Wooyoung wonder what his mother looks like when she smiles. He can’t remember the last time she did.

“Maybe you being here will get San out of the house,” San’s father jokes. “I swear, with each passing year, he goes out less and less.”

“That’s because I’ve done all there is to do!” San counters lightheartedly. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to drag Wooyoung to every nook and cranny of this island, and the map of it will be permanently engraved on the gray matter in his brain.”

San glances over at him, winks, and shakes his head ever-so-slightly.

Wooyoung smiles, feeling as if he’s been doing that a lot lately. His face is starting to hurt.

He wonders just how San does it.

✲

The vacation home is modern yet cozy with an old-fashioned feel at the same time. High ceilings and grand windows, the entrance hall is enough to make Wooyoung gape at the interior design. The bright wooden stairs are just in front of the doorway, and it’s one of those staircases that leads to another staircase at a corner. Wooyoung’s friend in middle school had a house like that, and he was always jealous of it.

“Here,” San says, grunting as he takes Wooyoung’s suitcase from him.

“Hey, what the f—uh, you know I can carry that, right?” Wooyoung quickly glances over his shoulder, and he lets out a sigh of relief when he sees San’s parents still unloading.

San scoffs. “We’re twenty-two years old, dude. They can handle swears.”

San guides him up to his room, entirely new territory that is very unlike his room back at his apartment. This room has some sort of childlike nostalgia to it, with posters and paintings and Polaroids hung up on every wall, spelling out the past, San’s very own rulebook and its ongoing changes.

Wooyoung takes it all in.

The room itself is painted somewhere between a navy and royal blue. The bed is neatly made, missing a frame. The sheets are a lighter blue, one that reminds Wooyoung of his own room back at his old house. His carpet was stained with cola and he never knew how to get it out, and his parents never helped him.

This room smells different than the room Wooyoung is most familiar with. More floral than cotton candy and weed.

“Even though I’m here every year, it always feels like an eternity not being here.” San lets out a sigh and flops onto the mattress. “Well, is there anything in particular you wanna do today?”

“Uh… I don’t know, what’s there to do around here?”

“Beach, beach, and more beach,” San says. “There’s a lot more touristy stuff to do if you—”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Wooyoung collapses on the bed next to San and wiggles around. Because it’s just a mattress without a frame, it doesn’t creak or rock. He smirks.

“This is a nice bed.”

“You’re a pervert.”

“You think I gave myself the title ‘slutty dickhead’ for nothing?” Wooyoung snickers and rolls on top of San, pinning his wrists above his head.

“In case you forgot, my parents are also sleeping in this house.”

“Well we’ll just have to be quiet. Or we could do it when they’re out.”

“This is supposed to be a vacation,” San chides, though his tone holds no sincerity to his point. That, and he can’t hide the sin in his smile. “Nah, fuck that.”

They’re laughing as San flips him around, rocking the boat in the water near that majestic waterfall. He kisses him lazily, and time slows the waterfall down, a mere sprinkling instead of a flood.

They’re so quick to break apart when they hear San’s mother calling them that their teeth clack together, and they spend five seconds cursing to themselves before gathering their bearings and heading back downstairs.

✲

San does take him to the beach, a _private_ one reserved for the residents of the designated neighborhood, and it reminds Wooyoung of something Yunho would have the luxury of being able to do. But then again, maybe this is a thing typical families have and Wooyoung is just unfortunate. The universe has been pretty sucky to him, after all. So no, no private beaches for him.

The moon is terrifyingly big next to the ocean for some reason. It makes Wooyoung feel like the world might end, but he wouldn’t mind it, probably. At least San is with him.

Low tide. The waters are calm, _smooth sailing._

When he looks at San, all he can see is the S.S. Suffering version of him telling him _there’s no such thing as smooth sailing._ But even so, he’s able to remind himself that this is _real life San_ , who wouldn’t say such a thing, not now, not ever. Even though the water is so close that Wooyoung can taste its salty tears, he doesn’t feel seasick, nor does he feel on fire.

_Smooth sailing._

San slips his fingers in between his. _Familiar._ And they walk, the wet sand like mushy gravel beneath their feet. A sensation that Wooyoung has never felt before.

It’s weird, but it feels better than stalagmites piercing the soles of his shoes and the bones of his feet.

“This is my first time at a beach,” Wooyoung says.

“Wait, really?” San asks incredulously.

“My family never went on vacations,” Wooyoung tells him, watching their feet make imprints on the sand that the tide steals away. “Never had the time or energy. We had the money, since my father was dumb rich, but… he was never close enough to us that he _wanted_ to take us on vacation. And when he left, the chances of going on vacation plummeted to zero percent. Meanwhile, he probably took his mistress to the fucking Bahamas or something.”

San scoffs. “Shit. Well, if this counts for anything, at least you’re here now. I’d say, as long as you’re in my life, your vacationing chances have gone up exponentially. Like… maybe thirty-five percent.”

“Seems like the chances would fluctuate depending on how shitty the universe wants to be.”

“That’s true for everything, isn’t it?”

“Touché.”

San chuckles and squeezes Wooyoung’s hand. “Hey, Wooyoung. Seriously, thank you for coming.”

“I’m kind of glad I did,” Wooyoung admits, glancing past San’s glowing form at the midnight sky. There are no stars, but the light from the enormous moon is near blinding. The waves play their song, spilling silver tunes on the ripples, certainly more melodious than the constant screaming and sound of fire crackling in Wooyoung’s brain. “Just being _here_ , on a fucking beach. Can you believe I’ve never been to a beach? How sad is that?”

“It’s not sad,” San says. “Life just has its ways. So yeah, not everybody has the chance to go to a beach. But look at it now, Wooyoung.”

He stops in his sandy tracks and turns to the blue.

“You’re here. You’ve come this far. Isn’t it pretty?”

Wooyoung blinks, a brief fireworks display underneath his eyelids for that one millisecond, as he imagines the sparks bursting across the water, sending glitter his way, a new path, smooth sailing across glimmering waves.

His aunt and brother wave at him from the moon.

“It is,” Wooyoung says, breathless, like he’s just come up for air.

✲

_I’m with San on Jeju Island now. He invited me for whatever reason. He’s in the shower right now, so I decided to write a brief entry letting whatever demon in this house know that I’m feeling really weird. Not that you’d care since you’re a demon, but, you know._

_I don’t know what this trip holds in store for me. I’m kind of just going with the flow, and it’s going pretty smoothly, surprisingly. I expected the waves to be much rockier, but I guess San has an effect on the moon’s gravitational pull. The waves were really calm tonight._

_I went to the beach for the first time ever. Pretty sure there’s still sand under my toenails, but that’s okay. The moon was huge, and I thought the world would end. But at the same time, I felt comforted. San held my hand. He seems to like doing that a lot._

_I forgot to write about this because my memory has been failing me lately. But there was a Thursday night maybe a week ago. It was the Thursday before summer break started. Right. I remember, because I told Yunho that Thursdays aren’t meant to be celebrated, and he told me that this one was special because it was the Thursday before summer break… even though that didn’t happen LAST summer break._

_Well, let me tell you what happened. Yunho manhandled me out of bed and we all got into his fancy ass sports car. It has one of those tops that rolls down. You know, the kind of car really rich dudes own because they want people to see their expensive sunglasses and hear their music blasting from speakers that cost more than my worth? Yeah, that car. Six people piled into a car that’s supposed to hold five._

_The night was really empty, surprisingly. I was really confused because I was still so sleepy and disoriented from Yunho just barging into my room and waking me up, but all of a sudden San called Hongjoong and requested some “coming of age movie music,” whatever that means. But the music was really good. Couldn’t understand a word of it, but it was really good. The moment was really good._

_Yunho and Mingi kissed in the front seat. I was really happy for them because fucking finally, Mingi had the balls to confess to Yunho. And we drove through this tunnel that I’d never seen before. There were no other cars on the highway, just us. Just the lights. And San stood up and spread his arms out and he looked like a bird._

_Before that, he drew an hourglass on my hand. A while ago he said I should get a tattoo of one, so maybe he drew it on my hand as an outline of sorts._

_It was probably one of the weirdest, most indescribable moments of my life. And I’m fairly certain it didn’t even happen. San didn’t draw an hourglass on my hand. I would’ve woken up with it still there. I also checked Yunho’s car. The top doesn’t roll down._

_I think something is happening to me. I don’t know what’s going on. But then again, I’ve been saying that on and off for the past few months, so I guess it’s not really THAT concerning, you know?_

_It was a dream, I think, but it felt like more than just a dream. I think I’m starting to lose touch with reality, and I’m pretty sure that’s not a good thing. But hey, at least it was a good dream._

_Maybe I’ll tell San about it. I think he’d be proud that I dreamt of music he likes._

✲

As it turns out, Jeju Island really is all beach, beach, and more beach. But also, mountains, flowers, tourists, and more things Wooyoung has never had the pleasure of experiencing in his twenty-two years of life.

San tells him that he has to do at least _one_ touristy thing. So he poses in front of a mountain, in a field of flowers that fell from the sun, and San snaps a photo of him with his fancy schmancy camera that his parents got him for Christmas. San’s smile is just as bright as the flowers and the sunshine that birthed them.

It’s so strange, Wooyoung thinks, that so much beauty is held on a single island, and an infinite amount of pages in his rulebook could be written just from seeing everything he’s seeing. He must have a new pair of glasses on or something, because everything is just so _bright._ He’s never seen such vivid blues, or gold reflecting off of every surface. Or purple that makes him feel his eyes are going numb in the best way, or green green green, _everywhere_ , like the mountains and grass.

And San. He walks around looking like an _actual_ tourist, with his bulky camera slung from its strap around is neck. Taking pictures when he can, even though he’s probably taken so many already.

Wooyoung is staring at a fountain. It reminds him of the waterfall. He hears a shutter and a click behind him, and he smiles.

✲

San’s parents are angels, Wooyoung decides. Not only is his mother’s cooking godlike, but they are probably the most down to earth people Wooyoung has ever met. It’s no surprise that San is the way he is when his parents are basically saints.

Over dinner, Wooyoung learns that San gets his sense of humor from his father, and his warmth and kindness from his mother. There is no awkward silence because they include Wooyoung in all of their conversations, ranging from reminiscent anecdotes of San’s time on the island, effectively embarrassing their son, or just asking Wooyoung what his life is like.

When San’s mother asks Wooyoung what his parents are like, a gust of frigid wind freezes the waterfall.

“Um… they’re…”

“Eomma,” San mutters, warning.

“Not together,” Wooyoung answers anyway.

“Oh.”

The first bout of awkward silence looms above the dinner table.

“I’m so sorry for asking, Wooyoung-ah,” San’s mother says.

“It’s okay,” Wooyoung assures, because it is.

As San said, life just has its ways.

They try to steer the conversation away from that, veering off to another road that they venture down, opting for asking Wooyoung about his life at school and how he met San.

“We had a class together,” Wooyoung lies, and his eyes flick over to see San hiding a smile behind stuffed cheeks.

“Oh, that’s nice! What class was it?”

“Electronic design,” San answers quickly.

Wooyoung wonders where he pulled that out from.

“Ah, so you’re an artist, then?” San’s father inquires.

“Aha, um, sort of.” Wooyoung feels like a tightrope being stretched to its limits by a sumo wrestler.

“His work is great,” San interjects.

“Ah, well, I’d love to see it someday!” his mother says enthusiastically.

While the parents’ eyes are distracted, Wooyoung shoots San a death stare.

But he’s not mad. Not at all.

_An artist, huh?_

✲

Running. Wooyoung has never run this much in his life, but San is insistent on this. It’s almost two in the morning, and San’s parents are asleep. There’s a split in the private beach, where one end is smooth sailing and even sand, and the other end sits at the bottom of a cliff. The cliff itself isn’t too steep; it serves as more of an outlook that stargazers and high people would love.

There, San tells Wooyoung to get to the highest point of the cliff and scream.

He’s out of breath from running (god, he needs to work out more), and San expects him to scream?

“Uh—”

“Just scream,” San tells him. “Scream until you can’t anymore. I want you to scream anything and everything that comes to your mind. If the neighbors hear, let them.”

Wooyoung gives him a confused look, still uncertain, until San steps up to the plate next to him.

And he screams.

It startles Wooyoung at first, hearing San this loud. He hadn’t even screamed this loudly in the tunnel.

“CALCULUS CAN SUCK MY DICK! I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHY I HAVE TO TAKE THAT BULLSHIT CLASS WHEN I’M NOT EVEN GOING TO NEED IT! FUCK COLLEGE! FUCK THE GOVERNMENT! I HATE SOCIETY! I WISH PEOPLE WOULD JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP AND MIND THEIR OWN BUSINESS!”

Wooyoung is staring at him, jaw hanging with the most confused yet intrigued look on his face.

“See? Now you try,” San says casually, his voice as strong as ever.

Wooyoung clears his throat. The spotlight is on him again. Somewhere, Yunho, Yeosang, Mingi, Jongho, Hongjoong, and even Seonghwa are watching him through the night sky television.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! FUCK YOU APPA! I CAN’T STAND YOUR FUCKING GUTS!”

“That’s it, Wooyoung!” San shouts.

“YOU FUCKED UP OUR ENTIRE FAMILY! I FUCKING HATE YOU! GO ROT IN HELL FOR ALL I CARE YOU NO GOOD PIECE OF SHIT! EOMMA HATES HERSELF BECAUSE OF YOU! _I_ HATE MYSELF BECAUSE OF YOU! IT’S ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT I’M SO FUCKED UP! IT’S YOUR FUCKING FAULT THAT EOMMA CAN’T GO A DAY WITHOUT HER SISTER CHECKING ON HER! IT’S YOUR FUCKING FAULT I NEVER HAD A CHILDHOOD! YOU WORTHLESS! PIECE! OF! SHIT!”

_“Appa, why is eomma crying?”_

_“Ah, she’s just stressed.”_

“HOW FUCKING DARE YOU ABANDON YOUR FAMILY RIGHT AFTER YOUR WIFE GIVES BIRTH TO YOUR OWN FUCKING SON! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

_“Wooyoungie… don’t…”_

_“Eomma, why are you crying?”_

_“It’s nothing, Wooyoungie. Don’t worry about me.”_

_Don’t worry about me._

“Eomma…”

Wooyoung’s throat hurts.

“Why did you have to abandon us too? Why did you have to do what he did? I thought… I thought you said not to worry about you. But now… imo has to check up on you every day. You lost your mind. But I get it… I get it. Because I think I’m losing mine too.”

Wooyoung laughs. It hurts, and it doesn’t.

Kind of… like life.

He laughs. He laughs at the world’s funniest joke: life itself.

“Fucking hell,” he says to the wind that wisps his words away. The ocean breathes them in.

He turns around. San has stepped down; _when did he do that?_ And he’s wearing a three-fifths, closed mouth smile.

“Did I do it right?” Wooyoung asks hoarsely.

“Yeah,” San replies, his smile widening to four-fifths. “You did. You really did.”

Wooyoung chuckles as San throws an arm around him. He’s out of breath just like he’d been when they first got there, and his throat is killing him, but he’s wearing a smile just like San’s.

Four-fifths.

They walk back to the house. Wooyoung’s face is wet from the ocean water spraying its tears of tragic woe and false sympathy onto him.

✲

They’re freshly showered, having returned from a day’s worth of sightseeing, when San cheerfully saunters over to the radio on his dresser. Quite an old fashioned one, by the looks of it, one of those boxy ones with an antenna that can only pick up on a total of five stations. One that whirs when it skips a track on a CD. Wooyoung almost laughs when San presses the top of it to open the CD compartment.

“What?” San says.

“That thing is so fucking ancient,” Wooyoung says through a chuckle.

“Do you _know_ me?” San asks rhetorically. “I am a photography major.”

“And?”

“That makes me a brat for antique shit.”

“I’m no photography major, but that sounds like a very incorrect stereotype.”

San shrugs and retrieves a flimsy CD case from the box off to the side of his dresser. “I blame everything on me being a photography major. Or maybe I just have an old soul.” He laughs and slips the CD inside, popping it into place.

“What are we going to listen to?” Wooyoung asks.

“Well, since it’s summer break and Hongjoong-hyung doesn’t do his shows over breaks, I must provide the music. Tonight’s showcase will be a song from one of the greatest cinematic masterpieces of our generation.”

“Which is?”

San smirks. “You’ll recognize it.”

Just as expected, the radio takes several ( _several_ ) seconds to load, and the spin and whirring is so loud that Wooyoung fears it could break.

But then the tune bursts from the two outdated speakers, fuzzy to the ears, but it’s _loud._ San had this radio set on max volume already, meaning he must’ve had it that way the last time he used it. Does San always listen to his music this loud? On a clunky thing like that radio?

Wooyoung smiles endearingly.

The song starts off with a few drum beats and a catchy guitar riff, sounding more pop rock than San’s usual alternative. Even though San said he’d recognize it, he doesn’t, probably because he’s never watched whatever movie the song is from.

San is bopping his head from side to side to each beat of the drum, eyes closed, mouth in a ninety-seven percent smile.

It’s in English, as most of the music San listens to seems to be, and it’s as if he knows every word to it. Wooyoung tries to latch onto any words he can understand.

_“Well, maybe I’m in love.”_

San grabs his hands.

“Come on, Wooyoungie!”

“What?”

“Dance with me.”

“What?”

“You hard of hearing on me now?”

 _No,_ Wooyoung thinks, _but this poor audio quality and max volume on this ancient device might blow my eardrums out._

So San takes on the task of spinning himself under Wooyoung’s arm, something that Wooyoung knows people do in cheesy romance movies even though he hasn’t seen many in his lifetime. “Come on, dance!”

“I don’t…”

_Know how?_

How odd, Wooyoung thinks.

That’s how he met San, after all.

But this is a different kind of dance. There’s nobody else but them, in a room full of memories, _San’s_ memories. This tune must be sacred to San for whatever reason, as he sings along in a language he doesn’t fluently speak, yet with the way he sounds, he might as well be. He has an amazing voice, and Wooyoung wonders if there’s anything San can’t do.

Completely free of alcohol and weed and human bodies squishing them together, San takes Wooyoung’s hands and swivels his hips, rocks his body and spins around, his smile expanding to one hundred fifty percent.

Wooyoung tries to follow. He’s just not used to this kind of dance.

He’s used to a dance that results in sex, not one that results in over-one-hundred-percent smiles and laughing.

But San is here. He’s laughing and smiling at one hundred seventy-five percent, so wide that his eyes have nearly disappeared beneath their lids.

And San sings along to every word.

Wooyoung can’t understand most of it. But he hears the word ‘love’ at the end of nearly every line.

 _“I love you, Mingi-yah!”_ San’s voice echoes in his eardrums, clear as day.

Love.

_“Come on, come on.”_

San spins himself under Wooyoung again, this time using both hands.

Two hundred percent.

Wooyoung finds himself reaching into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out his phone as San sways to the lull of the song.

With his arms above his head, eyes closed, his smile at two hundred percent, Wooyoung takes a picture. It’s not with some fancy schmancy camera that his parents got him for Christmas, but it’s _something._

“I’m in love, I’m in love,” San sings along in English.

He throws his arms around Wooyoung and spins him around. Wooyoung lets out a surprised yelp, dropping his phone on the bed as he’s tackled onto it, landing on his back.

The song ends with one more “I’m in love” and the single dramatic strum of a guitar chord.

“Hey, Woo, when’s your birthday?” San asks all of a sudden.

“Uh… November twenty-sixth.”

San’s mouth drops open. “What? How come you didn’t tell me? I could’ve celebrated it with you!”

Wooyoung shrugs. “It’s not an important day. I literally didn’t do anything for it. Pretty sure Yunho doesn’t even know when my birthday is.”

“Well, my birthday is coming up,” San says. “And I swear to god, Wooyoung, I will celebrate your birthday on my birthday to make up for the one I missed. And then _this_ November, we will celebrate your actual birthday. Sound good?”

“Uh… okay.”

“Great!”

Two hundred five percent.

Wooyoung doesn’t know how San does it.

✲

Surprisingly, San’s parents get drunker than they do on San’s birthday (and Wooyoung’s pseudo one). San has to be the one to drive them home from the restaurant, actually, with the two of them giggling in the backseat just like teenagers in love, young souls in older bodies by the sound of it.

And San and Wooyoung have to help them hobble in the house and lay them down in the master bedroom downstairs. Never once in Wooyoung’s life did he think he’d have to help two fully grown inebriated adults walk. He’s always been on the other end, after all.

When they make it back upstairs, they laugh their asses off as soon as they close the door.

“I can’t believe your parents,” Wooyoung says. “They’re so cool.”

San flips his hair. “Of course, where do you think I got it from?”

“Can’t really argue with that.”

San smiles, retrieving a change of clothes from his suitcase. “Shower?”

“Let’s do it.”

And do it, they shall.

✲

_It’s not just another day._

San is kissing him again. Not slowly, because they’re both impatient, covered and sweat and residual droplets of water from the shower. The towels had been forgone completely.

“We can’t be too loud,” San whispers into Wooyoung’s neck before nipping at his skin, causing Wooyoung to whimper. “We can save that for when they go on a date night.”

“Date night?”

“They go on a lot of those. They’re the ones who actually take advantage of the whole vacation thing and do touristy shit even though we’re here every year.”

“Noted.”

San chuckles, running his tongue down, licking along the veins on his neck and the dips of his collarbone. Wooyoung tilts his head back, allowing San further access to the areas he’s explored through and through. _It’s not just another day,_ Wooyoung thinks. It’s San’s birthday, the day that the planet was blessed with the birth of the sturdiest mountain Wooyoung has ever known. And as much as San wants today to be Wooyoung’s birthday celebration day too, it’s not worth celebrating the birth of a simpleminded slutty dickhead who may or may not be insane.

This day is not Wooyoung’s. It will never be Wooyoung’s. Today, and every day, belongs to San.

“Wooyoung,” San says.

“Yeah?”

“Want you to ride my face.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Unless you’re actually hard of hearing this time.”

Wooyoung flounders for words, filing through the repertoire of common phrases in his brain, but nothing comes up as a response for “Want you to ride my face.” A big red ERROR sign appears in the office, and there are a million little Wooyoungs throwing papers everywhere in a frenzy.

“’Cause, you know, I wanna eat that cake.”

Wooyoung’s face immediately falls flat at the joke and the blood from his dick rushes straight back up to the rest of his body. Well, not really, since he’s still in San’s presence and San still has his hands on him, but he sure as hell wishes he could have that reaction and never hear that joke ever again.

“Do _not._ Say that to me again.”

San, meanwhile, is giggling his ass off, trailing his hands down to Wooyoung’s and giving it a firm squeeze. “Ah, glad you liked my joke. But seriously, babe, turn around.”

“Uh… what do you mean?” Wooyoung asks, glancing down at their bodies flush against each other. They’re on their sides.

“Guess I’ll do it myself,” San says, and _oh_ , that’s what he meant.

He’s the one to “turn around,” meaning, he does a one-eighty still on his side and ends up at Wooyoung’s ass while his cock stands straight right in front of Wooyoung’s face.

Wooyoung’s eyes widen, his heart lurching in panic because _what the fuck, he’s never been in this position before. Ever._

But _shit_ , San is down there, hooking an arm under one of Wooyoung’s thighs and spreading his cheeks. San presses his tongue flat against the rim, sending a surge of unfamiliar pleasure straight up Wooyoung’s spine.

“H-holy shit, _San_.” Wooyoung’s hand flies down to San’s head, fingers threading into his hair. “Oh, _fuck._ ”

“Mm, have you ever been eaten out, Woo?”

“Y-yeah, just… not often. And never like this,” Wooyoung replies, feeling as if his voice has been stolen from him, and that may very well be the case.

San chuckles darkly, flicking his tongue against Wooyoung’s hole and earning another sudden moan.

And with San’s cock in his face, how can Wooyoung resist?

It’s an awkward, difficult position most definitely, but there’s just so _much._ Wooyoung sucks two of his fingers, coating them in saliva and pressing them against San’s hole just as he sucks the head of San’s cock into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” San groans, breath hot against Wooyoung’s hole.

_Baby._

Wooyoung’s been called that before during hookups. It’s never felt right, never sat well with him, but he would simply ignore it and keep going.

When it comes from San’s mouth, it makes his gut twist and cock twitch against San’s chest.

As Wooyoung prods San’s hole, he swirls his tongue around the head of San’s cock, grinding back on San’s face, his tongue, cock leaking onto San’s chest. His lower half burns, rutting against San desperately in an attempt to feel _more of him_ , because Wooyoung can’t get enough and something about San makes him feel like his heart will tumble out of his chest.

They eventually roll off of their sides and Wooyoung settles for just sucking San off, fingers toying with his balls as he continues to rub back on San’s face. Spreading Wooyoung’s cheeks further, San pushes his tongue in and a tornado opens in Wooyoung’s gut.

“F-fuck, San, just like that,” Wooyoung moans through clenched teeth, hoping that the air conditioner and San’s parents’ intoxication is enough to block out the sound of his constant whimpers.

“I wanna hear you,” San murmurs, licking a long stripe up from his taint all the way up past his hole.

Wooyoung jerks San off, setting his mouth free and letting San _hear_ him, just like he wants. It’s his birthday, after all.

San circles his tongue around Wooyoung’s hole, reaching down under Wooyoung’s torso to grab his leaking cock. “S-Sannie, _please._ ”

“Want you to come all over me,” San growls, closing his grip around Wooyoung’s dick and stroking in time with his tongue’s movements.

And he does, because fuck, San’s voice alone like that could be enough to make him come. His thighs give out, and he collapses onto San’s chest, covered in his own come.

“Fucking hell, San,” Wooyoung pants, mustering up enough effort to lift himself off and resume a position at San’s cock so he can suck him off properly.

San smirks at him, head falling back as Wooyoung takes him into his mouth again, hands finding their way into his hair. It doesn’t take long for San to come at all, and he does so with a guttural moan, shooting deep into Wooyoung’s mouth. Wooyoung swallows compliantly.

Perhaps another shower is needed.

✲

They cuddle naked this time, but being naked has never felt so non-sexual before. The light in San’s room isn’t rainbow, but it’s a soft, comforting light coming from Wooyoung’s right side that brings out the best and worst of San’s features.

The treasure map neck. And the battle scars.

Wooyoung wouldn’t necessarily call them San’s worst features because he doesn’t know if San even _has_ worst features. Because the way Wooyoung sees it, San is something holy under this light, somehow able to make something such as naked cuddling seem wholesome and wondrous. San is the strongest mountain that is merely shaken by earthquakes, not destroyed.

Without thinking, Wooyoung reaches down and runs his fingers along the jagged edges.

“I’m glad you don’t do it anymore,” he says.

“I’m glad I don’t too,” San replies, leaning his head onto Wooyoung’s. “It was… a lot.”

“I can see how your parents would’ve been really supportive. My parents would’ve never done that kind of thing for me.”

“My parents are amazing.” San sighs dreamily. “It’s like… they’re stuck in their teenage years. They fell in love at a pretty young age, like… nineteen, and have been together ever since. And from my perspective, it’s like they never lost that love.”

Wooyoung finds himself smiling.

“I wish I could find a love like theirs,” San says.

Wooyoung stops smiling.

“I know that you don’t, like, believe in love or whatever. But… I do. And I hope that one day, I can find one that’s a lot like my parents’.”

“Can’t say the same thing,” Wooyoung mutters.

San shrugs. “Love is weird.”

Silence.

“Wooyoung… I know you said love doesn’t exist. But then, how can you explain the infinite amount of love stories and love songs out there? How can you say love doesn’t exist when there’s so much evidence that it does?”

Evidence.

There is evidence of blossoming love and love that turns sour and rots into the ground. There is evidence of love that lasts three days, and love that lasts a lifetime. There is evidence of love that turns out not to be love at all, in which case the protagonist ends up feeling crushed, like a piece of them has been lost, and Wooyoung can imagine that it hurts.

That it _hurts._

“Love may not exist for you, but exists for so many others,” San goes on. “So… I guess, let the hearts break if they must, but let them thrive too.”

Wooyoung brings his hand back up to San’s chest, spreading his fingers out across it. Beneath that chest is a beating heart, one that beats and breaks and _hurts_ , just like those edges.

 _“Don’t you_ dare _think about falling in love.”_

“One time… there was a girl back in middle school. She was really pretty and a really nice person, and my friends thought she liked me. Thinking back, I think she liked me too. But I just kind of turned a blind eye to it, I guess. I didn’t want to end up with something that would just… fall apart.”

Wooyoung recites it like a poem.

“So I didn’t kiss her even though I had the chance to. My first kiss was my last year of high school, right before I graduated. With a different girl. I didn’t know her, and I never saw her again after that night. But it felt so easy, you know? We kissed, and we left. Nothing broke. The sand just kept falling.”

The hand in Wooyoung’s hair stops moving. San removes his arm from around Wooyoung entirely, and instead shuffles downward until he’s face to face, eye to eye with him.

“What was your first time like?” San asks.

Wooyoung chuckles. “It was with that same girl. I don’t even remember her name.”

San looks almost lost, almost confused. He’s at a negative two smile.

“What about with a guy?” San asks.

“That… I wouldn’t know either. It was freshman year of college, at the old university. At a party. I don’t remember his name either. Pretty sure you’re the only hookup whose name I actually remember.”

“Did those people mean nothing to you?”

Wooyoung blinks, feeling a stutter in his chest. “I’m not going to reprimand you if you say no,” San adds quickly. “I mean, I’ve had a few hookups in the past. I didn’t learn everybody’s name. I don’t talk to those people. They’re not my friends.”

“But they meant something to you, right?”

San presses his lips together. “I mean, maybe it’s just the way I am, but everybody I’ve met up until this point has meant something to me in one way or another. It’s like, I live and I learn. Do I know what exactly I learned from hooking up with those people? Well, no. But in those moments, I know I did. The people who taught me things, so basically everybody, meant something to me.”

“Maybe it’s the way you are and I’m a shitty person,” Wooyoung jokes with a dry laugh. “Because I don’t think any of my hookups have meant anything to me.”

“What about Yunho?”

“Well, he’s an exception. He’s my roommate and friend.”

“And me?”

Wooyoung’s heart feels like it stops.

“You’re also my friend, clearly. So yeah, you’re another exception.”

_Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid._

His brain is pounding against his skull, screaming muffled words of ire.

San nods. It’s slight.

“Oh, by the way,” he says suddenly, his tone turning around completely. “We should see if there’s a clinic on this island that does STD testing.”

Wooyoung’s eyebrows scrunch in bewilderment. “Uh, what?”

San’s smile expands to thirty percent, suggestively. He leans in, tenderly holding Wooyoung’s jaw as he whispers, “So we can do it without a condom, you know?”

If it were possible for a heart to fall out of an ass, Wooyoung’s would be on the floor.

✲

There’s a thunderstorm raging outside, and for some reason, San’s parents are at a resort. San assures Wooyoung that it’s fine, they’ll be fine, and sometimes they’ll leave San alone at the house for several days just to have that honeymoon time to themselves. Because apparently, their sex lives are alive and well. Wooyoung shudders and tries not to think about it.

So it’s thundering outside. And San is straddling Wooyoung’s lap with three of Wooyoung’s fingers inside him.

As it turns out, there is a clinic on the island and they managed to get their test results within a week. And surprisingly (more so on Wooyoung’s part), they both came back negative.

Without the thin layer of protection separating them, Wooyoung can feel _all_ of him.

“H-how does it feel?” San asks as soon as Wooyoung bottoms out.

“Fucking amazing,” Wooyoung grunts, throwing his head back. “Fuck, I don’t know if I can last long like this.”

“That’s okay,” San says, already starting to circle his hips. “We have _all night_.”

_And many more._

San reconnects their lips and rocks himself gently on Wooyoung’s cock, giving Wooyoung the monumental opportunity to feel every single inch of him. He’s taking advantage of his parents’ absence, moaning to the rain as he leans back, planting his hands on the sides of Wooyoung’s legs and bouncing on Wooyoung’s cock.

Wooyoung watches in awe as glistening sweat gleams on his chest that rises and falls so gracefully, even in an act such as this. Using one hand as support, he uses the other one to jerk San off.

“ _Fuck_ , San,” Wooyoung moans, thumbing the tip of San’s cock and collecting the precome that’s gathered there. “So fucking _tight_.”

“You feel so fucking good, baby.”

There it is again.

It doesn’t feel right. But at the same time, it does.

Maybe it’s because it’s not coming from some sleaze at a party that just wants a good fuck. Maybe it’s because San _means_ something to him, something that Wooyoung wouldn’t dare admit because _what if San leaves?_

He can’t lose San.

_He can’t. He can’t._

Wooyoung grips his hips tighter, as if he’d disappear if he didn’t.

_He should’ve let San go._

_He doesn’t want to let go._

“Don’t leave,” Wooyoung accidentally whispers.

“I’m not,” San responds, loud and clear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Wooyoung grabs him by the shoulders and lowers him to the bed where he continues to thrust into him, face buried in his neck.

_It was so easy to fuck and let go. But you’re still here. I can’t let go. Please let go. I’m suffocating._

“San, I’m close,” Wooyoung warns.

“Come inside,” San begs, crossing his legs behind Wooyoung.

_He can’t let go, not like this._

So Wooyoung does as he’s told, filling San up. It’s a strange sensation, feeling himself like _that_ , but it’s so fucking _good_. The waves are stirring and Wooyoung’s head is caught in a twister again. He’s soaked.

They’re both breathing hard, seeing eye to eye, chest to chest. And Wooyoung is the one to lower himself to kiss San again for the who-knows-how-many’th time.

He’s pretty sure he hasn’t even kissed Yunho this much.

“Fuck, Wooyoung,” San exhales, like he’s just been punched. “I…”

He closes his eyes lazily, a small, ten percent smile spreading on his face.

“That was amazing,” he says.

An understatement, Wooyoung thinks.

They clean themselves up in the shower. San tells some corny joke and Wooyoung laughs so hard that some of the water gets in his nose, and for a split second, it feels like he’s _actually_ drowning. But he’s quick to reach out to San, who catches him and pats his pack as he coughs. Then, they laugh again.

The next morning, they’re underneath the blue covers. The sun is impossibly bright through the curtains.

✲

_“Because love doesn’t exist, Wooyoungie. I love you, but that’s a different kind of love. People will tell you that they love you, but they don’t mean it. Not even your friends. Because those people will only end up hurting you, and you don’t want that.”_

_“But eomma—”_

_“No buts, Wooyoung-ah. You’ll never really be loved, and that’s okay. I love you, your brother loves you. That’s all you need.”_

_“That’s…”_

_“Don’t be like your father, Wooyoungie, do you understand? Don’t lead people into thinking you love them when you don’t. It’s better that way.”_

_“Okay…”_

_“I love you, honey. I hope you know that.”_

_“I love you too, eomma.”_

_“Remember that there are going to be people who don’t love you, and that’s okay. It’s okay not to be loved. Just be careful with people, okay?”_

_“Okay.”_

_“I love you, sweetie.”_

_“I love you too, eomma.”_

✲

There is one night where Wooyoung ventures downstairs to fetch a glass of water and he walks into the kitchen to see San’s mother at the counter with a mug of coffee in front of her.

“Oh, hi, Wooyoung-ah!” she greets cheerfully, _sixty percent._ “What are you and Sannie up to?”

“Oh, just watching some videos. You’re drinking coffee this late?”

She chuckles like liquid gold. “Trust me, Wooyoungie, caffeine doesn’t do anything to me.”

_Sounds like someone he knows._

“Do you need something?” she asks.

“Oh, uh, just wanted to get some water.”

“Oh, of course!”

Wooyoung acknowledges her with a slight nod and retrieves a glass that he begins to fill with tap water. “So, how are you and Sannie doing?” San’s mother asks.

“Huh?”

“You and Sannie. You make him really happy, I’ll have you know. And I hope he’s making you happy as well.”

_What?_

“Uh… yeah. He’s a great friend.”

“Friend?” Her mouth falls open. “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry! I… I was under the impression that you two were together—”

Wooyoung stares at her blankly. He must look ridiculous like this. Together? Just as ridiculous.

“Oh, uh, no. We’re not… together.”

“I’m so so sorry! It’s just, he talks about you like you two are together… oh my gosh, I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.”

_Sounds like another someone he knows._

“W-well, whatever the case. You’re a very important person to him. And I can tell that he loves having you in his life. I hope I’ve raised him well enough so that you enjoy having him in your life as well.”

 _You’ve raised him like a goddess_ , Wooyoung thinks.

“Yeah,” he says with a two percent smile. “He’s great.”

An understatement.

“You’ve raised him well,” he adds. “Really.”

She smiles so genuinely, her eyes so similar to San’s. So warm, welcoming. He glances down at her coffee.

“What do you put in your coffee?” he asks curiously.

“Oh, just some cream and sugar.”

“You don’t count?”

She laughs.

“What’s the fun in counting and having the same thing each time? Bring on the unbearable bitterness or the overwhelming sweetness. I can handle it either way.”

Wooyoung laughs too. And she never stops smiling, just like another someone he knows.

✲

“Do your parents know you’re bi?” Wooyoung asks, though he already knows the answer.

“Oh, yeah, they’ve known for a while. It was back in high school, when I started therapy. I think one of the reasons why I struggled so much was because of my sexuality… and when I came out and they accepted me, it helped tremendously.”

Wooyoung is looking through the box of San’s CDs, all of which are blank, not a single official album to be seen.

“They told me that I am free to love whoever I want to love. Eomma even told me that I was born with a lot of love. ‘Too much love for others and not enough for yourself,’ she’d said.”

Wooyoung nods consideringly. He can see it.

“What about you?” San asks. Wooyoung can detect the hesitance.

He shrugs. “I don’t talk to my family enough to warrant the urgency of them knowing what my sexuality is. I’m sure my aunt would accept me. I don’t really care what my mother thinks.”

“Mm, understandable.”

“And my father’s out of the picture. I don’t know any extended family. So basically, the only family member who I would disclose my sexuality to is my aunt. But then again, I don’t care all that much. It’s just a part of me, you know? It’s who I am. I don’t give a shit about what others think of it.”

“That’s good,” San says. “That’s really good.”

As good as he can get, he thinks.

✲

On the last day of break, the day before they board the plane to go back to their apartments for the fall semester, San requests that they go out one more time to take a photo even though it’s raining. Wooyoung, who doesn’t really care about catching a cold, obliges without protest.

He’s wearing a hoodie, but doesn’t wear the hood. He’s standing on top of the cliff as the wind throws his hair back, the downpour soaking him through and through. He wonders if the lens on San’s fancy camera is going to get wet. Probably the whole thing, actually.

But he hears a click and the sound of a dial instead of a shutter.

“Really? A disposable camera?” Wooyoung questions.

“Told you I’m an old soul,” San says with a chuckle. “Too bad neither of us will get to see the picture I took until I get it printed.”

“I mean, it’s not exactly the best day out.” Wooyoung barely glances up in case he’d get rain in his eyes. No umbrellas to be seen.

“Doesn’t mean it’s a bad picture. You’re in it, after all. Come on, let’s go.”

Wooyoung follows and silently wishes San would reach his hand back for him to take, like they’d done on New Years. But he doesn’t.

✲

San’s parents give Wooyoung a hug before the two board the train to head back to campus. They give him comforting smiles.

Wooyoung looks San’s father in the eyes and bows.

_You’ve raised him so well. I hope you’re so, endlessly proud of him. I hope you continue to love him._

They sit next to each other on the train. How pitiful Wooyoung must look, sitting next to someone that deserves the world when he doesn’t deserve the dirt he walks upon.

His father would laugh at him and spit in his face.

His father never loved him. But that’s okay.

✲

Even though they have shit to unpack, San insists that he makes dinner for the two of them back at Wooyoung’s place. His pancakes had been pretty darn good, and if San’s actual cooking is anything like his mother’s, he’s so down to try it.

But then he remembers Wooyoung doesn’t have shit for ingredients and they order takeout instead.

Since classes don’t start until Monday, Hongjoong’s show is still on hold. But San puts on some music that he’s saved on his phone, soft alternative pop beats.

It’s around five and the sun’s harsh glare hasn’t let up. It’s so bright, so Wooyoung gets up to close the curtain.

San is oddly silent.

“Oh, shit,” Wooyoung says suddenly. “I packed Jongho’s gummy bears for the trip, but I totally forgot. You want some?”

San shakes his head. “Nah, I’ve gotta get home soon.”

Weird, Wooyoung thinks. San usually spends the night.

After San’s finished cleaning up, Wooyoung gets an eerie feeling in his stomach, like the maybe-ghost has manifested itself again. He glances around the kitchen and adjacent living room. Nothing.

San has his suitcase at the door. He stands in front of it, unmoving.

“I’ll see you whenever,” Wooyoung says. “Text me if you wanna hang out.”

“Y-yeah,” San says without turning around. He opens the door.

“You alright?” Wooyoung asks, frowning. Negative four.

He can see San nod.

San gets maybe one and a half steps out the door when he turns around.

“Hey, Wooyoung.”

“Yeah?”

Something stirs in those few seconds of silence.

“I just…”

San lets out a shaky breath.

“Wooyoung, I love you.”

Type. Search bar. _No results found._

“Uh, yeah. Love you too.”

“No, I mean… I _love_ you. As in, I am in love with you.”

_ERROR ERROR ERROR._

Someone has poured scalding hot coffee all over him and stabbed into his chest with a rock hard icicle at the same time.

“I know, I know. You’ve made it very clear that you don’t do feelings or relationships and you don’t believe in love, and I understand why. I know you don’t love me back, nor will you ever love me back, but… not telling you has been kinda eating away at me for a while. So I wondered to myself, what’s better, keeping my feelings to myself while being completely aware that they will never be reciprocated, or confess my feelings while being completely aware of the exact same thing? Well, I figured that because I don’t really have anything to lose by telling you since my feelings won’t be reciprocated, I would confess and stop feeling like a volcano on the brink of an unachievable orgasm all the time.”

Wooyoung’s mouth opens and closes. Fish out of water. Spitting, sputtering, gasping for air.

“I’m… sorry,” he says, because what else can he say?

San is right.

“It’s okay. Like I said, I know you won’t feel the same way, but I still really like hanging out with you and having you in my life… clearly. I’m not about to stop being friends with you because of some silly feelings, you know?”

Silly feelings. Right. Feelings that don’t exist. Right.

Silly. Convoluted. Feelings.

“So… yeah. I love you, Wooyoung. But let’s stay friends, okay?”

_You don’t love me. Stop lying to me. Stop lying to yourself. How could someone like you love someone like me? You don’t. Just stop._

_Stop._

“O… kay.”

Nodding, San leaves him with a wavering thirty-five to forty percent smile that doesn’t look like it’s all there.

✲

“Wooyoung-ah! Hey, Woo!”

Wooyoung blinks. There’s a pain in his right knee.

“The hell are you _doing_?”

Oh, it’s Yunho. And behind him, Mingi.

Yunho’s eyes quickly scan the room. “Hey, you okay, Wooyoung?” Mingi asks.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung replies mindlessly, even though he’s not positive of his answer.

“What the hell are you doing sitting on the kitchen floor?” Yunho asks frantically, crouching down to help Wooyoung to his feet. Wooyoung’s knees pop, but not much else. He gets up relatively easily, actually.

“I, uh… um…”

“Uh, Yunho,” Mingi mumbles. “Is he okay?”

“Wooyoung-ah, hey. Earth to Wooyoung. Look at me.” Yunho rocks his shoulders.

Wooyoung blinks the salt water from his eyes. The ocean loathes him today.

“What happened?” Yunho asks.

“San. Uh… he… yeah.”

“What, what did San do? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

_No. San is incapable of hurting people._

“No,” Wooyoung says, because it’s the truth.

“Then what? What did he do?” Yunho and Mingi are staring at him with wide, panicked eyes and zero percent smiles.

“He told me he loves me,” Wooyoung says, because it’s the truth.

It’s also a lie. But Wooyoung doesn’t say that.

“Oh, shit,” Mingi says. “He did? Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck,” Yunho mumbles. “So, uh… why exactly are you sitting on the kitchen floor?”

“Because.”

Yunho and Mingi exchange perplexed glances before Wooyoung shrugs his roommate’s hands off his shoulders.

“I’m going to bed.”

“Wooyoung-ah, wait.”

He doesn’t listen. He trudges to his bedroom, where daylight remains spilling into the room like hot coffee, burning, blinding. He shuts the curtains, but it’s still _too fucking bright._

He closes his eyes.

There is sand in his lungs.

Something broke.

✲

_Choi San was said to have been born with too much love for others and not enough for himself._

_It seems as if I, Jung Wooyoung, was born with none at all._

_But it’s okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are getting tricky, hm?
> 
> and yeah, san was referring to shrek 2. what about it
> 
> also! i would like to put together a playlist for this fic. if you have any songs that this fic makes you think about, leave a comment or reach out to me on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)


	8. me with my umbrella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wooyoung shoots daggers at him, pointing the nozzle threateningly in his direction. “How many times have I told you? I don’t do relationships and don’t have feelings for San.”
> 
> Yeosang nods lazily. “Mm, okay. I believe you.”
> 
> Wooyoung retracts the bottle-sword and gives Yeosang a confused look. “Wait, you do?”
> 
> “You’ve told me enough times. Maybe it’s about time I believed you.” Yeosang snatches the bottle from Wooyoung’s hold and takes a total of five gulps. Wooyoung counts. “Now, anyways, let’s dance, Wooyoungie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's pretty heavy on the dialogue.
> 
> tw for anxiety, minor suicidal-ish thoughts, mildly dubious consent under the influence, and more emotions
> 
> also be prepared to get mad at wooyoung and yeosang :D

Something shifts in the universe. Again. Actually, multiple things have shifted, and while Wooyoung can’t exactly identify _what_ , it sure as hell feels like it when he’s sitting in his room at night with his laptop screen at full brightness, staring it and all of its blue, red, green pixels. He feels it in his eyes and chest especially. Eyes, from the burn of the screen evaporating the moisture from his retinas, and chest, because San told him he loves him.

It’s quiet. Wooyoung knows Hongjoong has his show, but for some reason, he can’t find it in himself to listen to it. Maybe because he doesn’t want to hear San to pull that same stunt, where he requests music ahead of time, accordingly.

He checks his phone. No messages. Not surprising.

Yunho knocks on his door. Wooyoung doesn’t know how long it’s been since they’ve talked. A day? Two? Seven? Four-fifths? Wooyoung doesn’t know. He doesn’t _know._

“Wooyoung-ah.”

“Yeah?”

“I think we should talk.”

Wooyoung doesn’t even turn around. “What is there to talk about?”

“You know what. You’ve been sulky for the past week and barely left your room. What gives?”

_What gives?_

“Is it about San?”

Wooyoung’s grip tightens on his desk chair’s arms. Cold, hot, hard plastic. He can feel his fingertips turning white.

 _“Why won’t you talk to me?”_ Yunho’s disembodied mouth screams. His skeleton is standing, empty sockets staring him dead in the eyes.

“Sure, I guess.”

“You guess?” Wooyoung hears some more soft footsteps as Yunho steps further into the room. “Seriously, Wooyoung-ah. What’s going on? Why are you being so weird?”

“It’s _nothing_.”

“It’s obviously not nothing, dude. You’re not being yourself.”

_And what is myself like?_

“Does… does it have to do with San telling you that he loves you?” Yunho asks, and Wooyoung’s organs plummet to the floor.

He bites his lip and shuts his eyes, his laptop’s glare penetrating the shield of his eyelids. It still fucking hurts.

When he doesn’t say anything, Yunho scoffs. “I mean. I know that you don’t do feelings, so… I guess it stands to reason why you’re acting all weird. What exactly did San say to you, though?”

“He said we can remain friends,” Wooyoung says. “Because he knows I don’t do feelings too. He knows that I’m incapable of loving. And… he’s okay with that, I guess.”

Wooyoung can feel the droplets of confusion hanging in the air. Yunho is probably looking at him like he has three and a half heads. “Are you serious? _San_ said that?”

“What’s so surprising?” Wooyoung asks.

“It’s just that… usually it would be the other way around, right? Like, _you_ would be the one to tell him that you two could remain friends. I wouldn’t have expected San to be so outright and suggest that first thing.”

Wooyoung shrugs. “That’s what he said.”

“Have you talked to him since?”

Wooyoung shakes his head.

“Oh no.” Yunho sighs and runs a hand down his face, tired, just like Wooyoung. “Dude… this isn’t good.”

“You think?”

“Look, I’m an outsider looking in. But let me tell you right now, shit doesn’t just go back to normal after a love confession, especially if it’s an unrequited one. I don’t know if it’s _possible_ for you and San to be friends again.”

“That’s what he said,” Wooyoung mumbles. “That’s what he suggested, not me. And he hasn’t texted me since.”

“Do you still want to be friends with him, Wooyoung?”

San is looking at him with pleading eyes.

 _“I just want you to love me, Wooyoung,”_ he says, holding his own hollow pineapple. It’s moldy, its yellow meat having rotted into a disgusting shade of brown. There’s some viscous green fluid in it, seeping out from the bottom and falling in globs onto the deck. _“Why won’t you love me?”_

_I don’t. I just don’t._

But San still _means_ something to him.

He glances over at his phone. No texts from San. None from Yeosang or Hongjoong. He wonders if they even know, only to remember that San isn’t one for gossip. Even… if it has to do with himself, apparently.

“Have you spoken to Mingi?” Wooyoung questions.

“That’s… actually why I came in to talk to you. Mingi reached out to me about San. Said that San’s acting off. And while Mingi knows that San told you he loves you, I guess San isn’t telling him what actually happened.”

“Well, nothing much happened. He told me he loves me, acknowledged that I don’t love, suggested that we can still be friends, and left. That’s it.”

But totally disregard the fact that San knows why.

San knows why Wooyoung doesn’t love. San knows more about Wooyoung than anybody else. San has read through the most pages of Wooyoung’s rulebook, traversed his body in ways not even Yunho has, taken more photos of Wooyoung than any of his old friends have, and is willing to stay _friends._ It’s not right. Wooyoung knows it’s not right. It can’t be right.

“But… why don’t you love, exactly?”

“Because my parents are assholes,” Wooyoung answers bluntly.

Because his father gave his mother one more kid before walking out completely. Because for years, his mother knew his father never loved her, but clung to the sleeves of his expensive suits because she still loved him. Even when she realized otherwise, she still went crawling back to him because she _needed_ him.

“Maybe… she just wanted him to stay. Oh, _god_ , fucking _fuck_ , Yunho-yah.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“What if she purposely got knocked up just to get him to stay, and it ended up backfiring and he left anyway? Fucking hell, if Kyungmin knew—”

Yunho’s mouth falls open. Wooyoung wears a forty-four percent smile, one that holds no substance.

“He really didn’t love her. He didn’t give a _shit_ about her. She… she—”

She’d looked so _dangerous._

Maybe it was the raging hormones. Wooyoung remembers her belly swollen with new life, still awake late at night, but her mug would hold water instead. And her eyes were still tired, and her fingers would still shake. And she still looked at Wooyoung with daggers in her glare, and Wooyoung learned not to cower under it anymore.

He’d seen it enough times.

That negative five thousand smile. Those creased eyebrows and a look that felt like a bullet through the heart. Wooyoung would stand in the entrance to the kitchen, and his mother wouldn’t even _look_ at him sometimes, but her face was set in stone. A permanent engravement. That deadly, venomous look.

_“Not now, Wooyoung-ah.”_

_“But… where’s—”_

_“Go back to bed, Wooyoung! Now! I don’t want to hear another word out of that mouth of yours, do you understand? Your father is at work. I’m waiting for him to come home. Don’t bother me or him. Go. To. Bed.”_

It had been two in the morning then.

“I don’t… I don’t know if that’s the reason or not. But _fuck_ , Yunho, that’s so fucked up, isn’t it? That’s so _fucked up_ , to have a fucking _child_ and still walk out right after he’s born. He didn’t give a shit about the family he built, and I’m sure as hell he didn’t give a shit about all the women he fucked behind my mother’s back. And marrying someone and having a family like that only to abandon them in the end is _love_? If that’s love, I don’t fucking want it.”

“Wooyoung… you do realize that that _isn’t_ love, right? Your father was, _is_ , a piece of shit. You said it yourself, he never loved her. So… you’re kind of contradicting yourself here.”

“I don’t know what love _is_ , Yunho.” Wooyoung lets out a breath, _it hurts_ , and buries his face in his hands, eyes in his palms. He breathes. In and out. “Frankly, I don’t give a fuck about love. I don’t. Care. Love doesn’t work out for anybody.”

“What about those couples you see that have been married for decades, huh? What about those couples who stay together die together because they love each other so much?”

“Well, everything has an expiration date, Yunho-yah. Love dies, no matter how long it lasts. And I’m damn sure most married couples get so fucking sick of each other and just stay together because they feel like they have to. I mean, that’s why my father stuck around for as long as he did, right? Until he decided that he didn’t want my mother anymore. Wouldn’t even be surprised if he didn’t love her even when they had me. I was born out of obligation, not love. Same with Kyungmin.”

“Wooyoung—”

“Get out.”

Wooyoung stares his laptop back in the face and imagines it bursting into flames. He hears the sound of this weird sound Yunho’s mouth makes, a few soft footsteps, and the door to his bedroom close, unobstructed.

He remembers. That mug. From coffee, to water, to _poison_.

And Wooyoung thinks to himself, if looks could kill, he would already be dead.

✲

_My father is a piece of shit, that much is known. I can’t remember the last time I talked to him, but maybe that’s for the best. He was never really home, anyway. Probably had a ton of women under his belt, one for each night he wasn’t home. What a fucking asshole._

_He should be the one drinking the poison. He doesn’t even deserve the pineapple. The ocean should just be made of acid. And I’d push him into it and watch his bones sizzle until they dissolve entirely. Okay, that sounded extremely morbid and fucked up. While I wouldn’t commit actual murder, I sure as hell wouldn’t give a shit if I found out that bastard died._

_He’s my father. He never loved me or my mother._

_But… do I have to love him?_

_I don’t think I do. Not after everything he put our family through. But there’s this nagging feeling that my family are the only people I have to love because it’s… normal. It’s normal to love family, right? Eomma always told me she loves me. I would say it back. I think I love her. I just don’t know if I love my father._

_Hongjoong-hyung told me that some families are more broken than others. And while my family may be in tatters at the moment, I still… I still feel like I have to love them._

_I love my little brother. I do. Even if we were just novelties to our parents, at least we have each other, you know? And my aunt… she’s been more like a mother to me, more than my own mother. Maybe it’s because she’s always wanted kids of her own, but it just never worked out for her._

_I love them. I love my aunt and little brother. I think I love my mother, and I think my father can rot in hell._

_I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I just want to sleep._

At the bottom of the page, Wooyoung draws such angry lines that they bleed onto the next page. Sharp. Jagged. Lines.

He’s writing with his red gel pen.

“ _Fuck_!” he screams, and he hurls the pen at his bedroom door. The sound upon impact is deafening, but it barely makes a click sound as it crashes to the ground.

He slams his journal shut and chucks it at the door too.

Like a cave has crumbled inside his heart and flooded with water, Wooyoung heaves with shallow breaths.

“Did your parents hate you?” he asks to the maybe-ghost.

It’s sitting with its back against the door, posture rigid but head slumped to the side. Its hands are limp and its legs are stretched out in front of it. Its tongue hangs from its mouth. Its skin is blue, like it had just suffocated to death.

“Why did you hurt so much, I wonder?”

Wooyoung could think of a million stories, come up with endless assumptions, and none of them would be the complete truth.

It would all just circle back to the now, that the maybe-ghost is _dead._

“Love dies,” Wooyoung says.

One day, the world will cease to exist. The sun will swallow the entire system it’s built, and the moon from which his aunt and brother are waving will be incinerated into nothing.

The oceans will evaporate. The S.S. Suffering and all of its passengers will disintegrate. Love dies.

“Love can’t die if it never existed in the first place.”

He closes his eyes.

Good thing Yunho isn’t in tonight. He would definitely drive Wooyoung to the hospital if he was.

✲

_It’s mind-blowing, how quickly someone can just… disappear._

_Appa did. Hwanjin did._

_But San? It’s so weird. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve heard from him. I know he’s still around since we’re still “friends” and whatnot, but it’s as if he’s not entirely HERE. Like he’s slipping away slowly, like he’s clinging onto the railing by his fingertips and refusing to let go._

_I wish he would just let go. It should’ve been like that in the first place._

Wooyoung sips his coffee, three creams and three sugars. It’s been a while since he’s been to the café.

“Wooyoungie!” a familiar voice chirps.

Like caffeine and acoustic pop beats, footsteps approach, and Hongjoong inserts himself into the booth across from him. “How are you?”

Wooyoung glances up from his drawing and watches Hongjoong’s head explode.

“Well, that’s not an amicable look. What’s going on?”

_How many times do I have to explain?_

“Nothing,” Wooyoung mutters. “What are you doing here?”

Hongjoong chuckles mirthfully. “Oh dear, it’s been so long that you’ve forgotten I’m a regular here. But, I _am_ meeting San here, he said he has some pictures to show me. Those are some nice drawings, may I—”

Wooyoung slams his journal shut and causes an earthquake on the table. “I’m leaving.”

“Wh-what?” Hongjoong glances around frantically. “What are you talking about? Sannie’s going to be here soon!”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, apparently, because as if on cue, San approaches, and it’s too late.

“Hey, Hongjoong-hyung, I—oh. Hey, Wooyoung.” He manages to knit a forty percent smile, just like the one Wooyoung had last seen. His voice still belongs to him. It still sounds like San. Lovestruck, idiotic San.

“Oh, San-ah! Sit, sit. You said you have some photos to show me, right?”

“Ah, yeah. They’re just some photos I printed from me and Wooyoung’s trip to Jeju Island.”

In the captain’s quarters, the big red button that reads ABORT looks really tempting right now. And as if Wooyoung’s head wasn’t already on the verge of blasting off into space, San slides into the booth _next to him_ as he opens his bag and pulls out a manilla folder.

“I’ve been wanting to show you these, too,” San says in his direction. Like nothing is different.

“Oh my. Sannie, they’re _gorgeous_ ,” Hongjoong drawls, spreading out the photos.

Wooyoung recognizes every single one, and he’s in almost all of them.

“Did you edit them?” Hongjoong asks.

“Yeah, pretty much all of them. Except this one.”

There’s another smaller folder within the manilla one. And out pops an ostensibly glossy picture of a dark, stormy night, with Wooyoung in the center, face scrunched up as his body is ravaged by rain. Hongjoong picks it up and gazes at it as if it’s the most beautiful thing.

“Oh my. A disposable camera shot?”

“You bet.”

“Sannie, you old soul.”

San chuckles. Music.

_“I’m in love.”_

“Wooyoungie, you must feel honored to be the subject of so much of San’s work,” Hongjoong says, shuffling through the rest of the photos.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, feeling the hornets swarming around his heart, their stingers dangerously close to the tissue. As he looks over the photos, he realizes that yes, he really _is_ the subject of many of them, and now he knows why.

_“How can you say love doesn’t exist when there’s so much evidence that it does?”_

_Evidence._

That must be what San considers these photos. Wooyoung looks at them with some form of loathing, somewhat disgusted, but it’s not because San took them. He’s looking at himself through a camera lens, one that belonged to San, but all he sees is someone that cannot be loved.

 _Did you take so many photos of me because you love me?_ Wooyoung wants to ask as he glances over at San.

 _You don’t love me. You don’t. You_ can’t.

Interrogation. Yunho is standing over him, shining a light in his face. _“Talk,”_ he says, distorted. His teeth are those of a shark. _“We have evidence.”_

 _“Evidence of what?”_ Wooyoung asks.

San’s photos spill onto the table. _“Of how pathetic you are.”_ Shark hybrid Yunho laughs a haughty laugh before gobbling Wooyoung up like a fresh piece of meat.

From the plane to the field of sundrop flowers to the stormy disposable night, San has a rainbow of photos from different lenses and so many of them have Wooyoung in them. But all Wooyoung sees is some sad version of himself, one that might as well not be there because why would anyone want to bother taking a photo of him? What is so special? Why so many?

“They’re beautiful, Sannie,” Hongjoong compliments one last time before Wooyoung finally decides to announce that he’s leaving again.

He tells them that he has some work to catch up on, which is bullshit, of course, considering he was at the café just doodling to his heart’s content. Except his heart is most certainly _not_ content at the moment, as a steaming hot whirlpool opens up in the center of his chest and squeezes every breath out of his lungs like a desiccated orange.

And as if things couldn’t get any worse.

**[sanshine]**

_hey. im sorry if I made you uncomfortable back there._

_if it’s ok with you, do you wanna hang out a little later? once you’ve, ahem, finished your work._

Goddammit.

**[slutty dickhead]**

_yeah. ok._

**[sanshine]**

_mingi’s working. you can come over_

_bring jongho’s gummy bears_

Wooyoung can’t help but chuckle a little.

Fuck.

✲

Wooyoung may have had too many of Jongho’s gummy bears. San may have as well.

One pack had been enough to get four people stoned off their asses. Half a pack had been enough to get Wooyoung and San stoned off their asses. One pack between Wooyoung and San has them seeing colors that aren’t just from the fairy lights. In fact, Wooyoung can’t tell what colors they actually are.

San has this sort of glazed look on his face, eyelids drooping and mouth barely hanging open. He looks as if he’s scrutinizing something, looking for the tiniest hints, _evidence._

“Sannie,” Wooyoung slurs, reaching over to touch San’s shoulder. His depth perception is way off.  
San is a lot closer than he looks.

“Yeah?”

“What colors do you see?”

“Blue. Green. Pink.”

“I see yellow and purple too.”

San squints even more. “Oh. Maybe I see them too.” He laughs, a lazy fifty percent smile.

“Do your eyes hurt? Squinting like that?” Wooyoung asks.

San’s head flops to the side, his smile disappearing. But it’s not a _bad_ look. Probably because San could never see Wooyoung in a bad light.

“I’ve hurt much worse before,” San says.

Wooyoung’s heart drops into his stomach. And then his stomach drops to his feet and shatters into a million pieces that take up residence in his metatarsals.

“Sorry, that was dark,” San quickly amends with a halfhearted laugh, looking away.

“It’s okay. I mean, you’re friends with me, so you’re probably used to… that kind of dark shit.”

“Mm. And, I mean, I’ve had some dark shit too. But it’s okay.”

Wooyoung frowns in his direction. “It’s not okay,” he says. “You didn’t deserve to hurt.”

“Neither did you.” San looks at him again, hazy eyes, but those of San from the cruise.

_“Why won’t you love me?”_

“Do you think you deserved to hurt, Wooyoung?” San asks.

When Wooyoung thinks about it, _really_ thinks about it, probably not. But his first instinct is to say yes. Why? He’s not entirely sure. So he shakes his head instead of answering verbally.

“You probably think nobody deserves to hurt,” Wooyoung says with a short chuckle.

“Depends. Some people really deserve to get choke-slammed into the ground.”

_Am I one of those people? I personally think I am. Choke-slam me into the ground and see if I arise a new man._

_See if I love you back._

“Are you okay?” San asks.

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, why?”

“Because I don’t think you are.”

Wooyoung lets out a deep sigh. Flushes out the water. Breathes in poison. Exhale. He shrugs.

“I’m really not one to be an observer or assumer of one’s feelings, but really and truly, Wooyoung, I don’t really think you’re okay. And you said so yourself. Remember?”

_Remember._

San chuckles to himself. “You were like this. You were high out of your mind, but I don’t think you were all that high. I think you were sad. I think you were feeling too much in that one instance for whatever reason. And I wanted to take care of you because you seemed like someone who was never really cared for in their life. And I thought you were really cute, I still do. And you were so sweet to me. And you’re a really good kisser.”

Wooyoung thinks. If only San knew how many times his kisses pulled the water right from his lungs and saved him from drowning. If only San knew how his kisses were CPR and defibrillators and kickstarted his organs and made him _feel._

“You’re a really good kisser too,” Wooyoung says instead.

“Can we?” San asks.

“Can we what?”

“Kiss.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.”

“Okay.”

San straddles him, body moving at negative five. His eyes are still so warm, still so caring, just lazy and droopy from the effects of the special gummy bears. He’s still San. He still loves Wooyoung.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” San says.

“We don’t have to,” Wooyoung replies.

“But I want to.”

_He wants to hold onto something he knows he shouldn’t._

“I like kissing you,” he says.

“I like kissing you too.”

“So can we kiss?”

“Yeah.”

San finally shuts up because if he doesn’t, he might not have the guts to ask again. He links his hands behind Wooyoung’s neck and kisses him slow, just like so many times before, but it’s as if this moment is even _slower_. Like the sand in the hourglass falls grain by grain instead of all at once. And San holds him so tightly as if he would disappear.

“I love you, Wooyoung,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

_It’s okay. Please don’t apologize._

But San steals his words away, _again_ , slipping his tongue inside and letting out deep, satisfied breaths. San loves him.

“I didn’t want to fall for you, Wooyoung. I really didn’t,” San whispers poison against his lips.

_Why? Why didn’t you want to fall for me? And how did you?_

When Wooyoung kisses San, it’s so fucking familiar every time. Because they’ve spent countless nights, so many kisses, and their wallets are empty and their fuel tanks are are running low but kissing San feels like a first time on a loop. Every. Single. Time.

Wooyoung _remembers._

✲

Yunho’s dancing is extraordinary. Wooyoung doesn’t know if it’s because Yunho practiced over summer break but he’s much more precise, much more confident. And holy fuck, flexible.

He’s watching from the corner of the practice room with Mingi sitting next to him. When he glances over, he can see the yearning in Mingi’s eyes.

If only that illusionary night had been real.

“You need to tell him,” Wooyoung whispers.

Mingi sucks in his bottom lip and doesn’t respond.

“Mingi-yah,” Yunho suddenly announces, “come on, let’s practice the routine I showed you.”

Mingi is quick to his feet. “Wait, what? You two are doing a dance together?” Wooyoung questions.

“We hung out over the summer and I gave him a few pointers. He’s actually a really good dancer, he just had to loosen up a bit and find his style.” Yunho grins proudly at his friend, and for a moment, it almost looks as if Yunho has the same desire in his eyes. Almost. Wooyoung can’t tell.

And as it turns out, Yunho is right. While it’s still clear who the actual trained dancer is, Mingi no longer looks like a rabid spaghetti noodle. Which makes Wooyoung think… just how _long_ did they spend time together?

Dinner that night is tense. Wooyoung can feel it in the moisture in the air. Probably because Mingi _knows_ that San is probably not doing that great and that it’s probably because of him. Take all of those probably’s out, and you’d have what the reality is. Probably.

Wooyoung is the first to finish his food. Yunho is his ride home, but he’s so fucking _done_.

And if that wasn’t enough, Mingi just has to open his stupid mouth.

“So, uh, Wooyoung… about San…”

“What about him?” Wooyoung says through clenched teeth.

“Have you been talking to him? You’re still friends with him, right?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung replies, because it’s not entirely a lie. Except the last time he’d seen and talked to San was that night under fairy lights and sugary THC air particles. And they’d kissed. And maybe fooled around.

Wooyoung can’t seem to remember.

“Um… well, he’s kind of… how should I say this… on edge? And he won’t talk to me about it.”

Wooyoung can feel Yunho’s condemning eyes on him. “I-I get that you, uh, don’t feel the same way he does, but maybe you two should talk it out some more? Maybe?” Mingi suggests timidly.

“And what good would that do?” Wooyoung snaps, leaning back in his chair a little too forcefully. “It’s not gonna change anything. He’s still going to love me, and I’m still not going to love him back. So what’s the point of putting the same record on repeat when all it’s going to do is get scratched?”

“Dude,” Yunho says with some sort of reprimanding glare, “chill. You could at least, I don’t know, word it nicer?”

Wooyoung scoffs. “This isn’t my problem. San isn’t my problem. If he wants to stop being sulky, maybe he should stop loving me.”

“It doesn’t work like that!” Yunho retorts, his eyes having turned from admonishing to straight up outraged. “You don’t know how love _works_ , dude. It isn’t exactly all fun and sunshine and rainbows when you know someone you love doesn’t love you back, and you can’t exactly stop loving someone just like _that_!” He snaps his fingers.

“And like I said, that’s _not my problem_ ,” Wooyoung argues. “I’m not the one in love, so why is it my responsibility to make San feel better? I _can’t_ , hello! I reiterate, if he wants to stop being all on edge or whatever, he needs to get over his feelings.”

“Why are you being so insensitive?”

“Why are you being so intrusive?”

From reprimanding to furious to straight up _tired_ , Yunho just shakes his head.

“You don’t deserve San.”

“Guys,” Mingi interrupts, desperate, “please, stop arguing. I’m sorry for bringing it up, I—”

“No, it’s fine, Mingi-yah. Because you know, Wooyoung hasn’t been talking to me about it either. But forgive him, his emotions or lack thereof are in the gutter and it appears as if he’s lost the ability to feel empathy, so—”

“God, _fuck you_ , Yunho!”

Wooyoung storms out before he can hear anything else. Yunho is his ride home and it’s raining outside, but Wooyoung is willing to make the walk home. He’s walked over lava and stalagmites and torrential waters. He’s run on frozen grass while fireworks burst over his head. He’s stood on a cliff and shouted to the void. He’s walked the university walkways, cruised around on Yeosang’s skateboard, and stood in a field of flowers. All in these same shoes.

When he gets back to the apartment, it’s an hour later and Yunho is already there to open the door for him.

“You’re an idiot,” Yunho tells him.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Wooyoung mutters, kicking off his sopping wet shoes.

“I’m sorry about what I said. That you don’t deserve San,” Yunho says.

Wooyoung scoffs, then laughs. A nine percent smile.

“No, it’s fine.” He strips himself of his jacket and shirt, not caring that he’s shirtless in front of Yunho because he’s seen him naked before for fuck’s sake.

But _why did they stop fucking?_

“It’s fine,” Wooyoung says again.

It’s probably not.

“You’re absolutely right.”

✲

He’s at the café again with his journal and colored pencils, _the ones that San got him_ , shading in some butterflies when reality slaps him in the face and knocks a few teeth out.

It’s his junior year, and he still hasn’t declared a major.

To be fair, it’s his sophomore year at _this_ university, but still his junior year overall.

Gritting his teeth, he picks up his red gel pen and, in thick letters, he writes ‘pathetic’ right next to his butterflies.

Then, there’s a creaking of wood and a zipping sound and a wild Hongjoong appears.

“Greetings, Wooyoungie.” He doesn’t sound so cheery. “How are you on this fine evening? Autumn is beginning soon.”

“Mm.”

Hongjoong sighs. “Wooyoung, seriously. What in the world is going on? Sannie won’t tell me anything, but I _know_ his recent aloofness has something to do with you.”

_How many times must I repeat myself? How many times do I have to tell the people around me that San loves me but I don’t love him and it’s tearing me apart because I don’t deserve him?_

“You know I could make all the assumptions in the world.”

Familiar phrasing, Wooyoung notices.

“What assumption would you make, then? I’m curious,” he says.

“Well, I’m certain feelings are involved. Most likely on San’s end.”

“Mhm.”

“And I assume that you have some internal conflict regarding your feelings towards San and that’s why you’re avoiding him.”

“Nobody’s avoiding anybody.”

Hongjoong lets out another exhausted sigh. “Wooyoungie, to put it bluntly, that is a fat load of shit and you know it.”

“I don’t love him, okay, hyung? I _don’t._ And he’s all upset about it, which, like, okay. Yeah. But it’s not my problem. He’s the one that needs to get over his feelings if he wants to stop being upset about it.”

“It doesn’t work like that, you realize that, right?”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Yeah, heard that enough from my roommate. But I stand by it. It’s just a fact.”

“Perhaps, I will give you that,” Hongjoong says. “You are right in that he will probably feel better if he doesn’t feel these unrequited feelings towards you. However, you must understand that once these feelings are acquired, they’re extremely difficult to dispose of. You keep saying that he needs to get over his feelings like it’s easy. It’s not. You realize that, don’t you?”

Wooyoung’s jaw moves to one side as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“I wouldn’t know,” he says.

“Ah.” Hongjoong nods, eyes closed as if seemingly deep in thought. “So you’ve never loved somebody? Not even in a high school relationship?”

“Nope,” Wooyoung replies. “Never been in a relationship. They’re pointless.”

“And why, pray tell, is that your thought process?”

“Loves dies, hyung,” Wooyoung says, like it’s _easy._ “People break up or divorce more often than not. Or, if they stay together, they get sick of each other. Love doesn’t exist eternally, so what’s the point in it? What’s the point of going through so much heartache just for it to end entirely? Love just hurts you.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “But, love can’t hurt you if it never existed in the first place.”

Hongjoong frowns, negative ten. “So… you’re saying that love dies and that it can’t die if it never existed in the first place. However, by acknowledging that love dies, you’re saying that it exists. Isn’t that contradictory?”

“People can love each other or say they love each other or _whatever._ But love doesn’t exist in my head. I don’t have a single ounce of love in my body, hyung.”

“And you’re saying that you feeling no love makes you invincible to hurt?”

Wooyoung glances down at his butterflies. They’re colored in gold and orange. In red, ‘pathetic.’

“You know, aromanticism exists. There are people who don’t feel romantic feelings, which is completely valid. However… this doesn’t sound like that, Wooyoung. It sounds as if there’s something deeper going on inside you.” Hongjoong’s eyes follows his to the page. “That is a gorgeous drawing, by the way. I’ve noticed that you doodle a lot. Is that something you like to do?”

Wooyoung shrugs. “Sometimes I just do it unconsciously.”

“Hm. Well, maybe that’s your calling, then.”

Wooyoung thinks back to the hills and valleys on his ceiling and imagines them filled to the brim with colors.

Somewhere in the back of his cranium, he hears a voice asking, _“What do you want to be?”_ and the glide of a black gel pen across a blank page of an open rulebook.

“Everything has an expiration date,” Hongjoong says, _familiar._ “Of course, love is no exception to that. But if that is the case, if love dies or doesn’t exist or whatever your brain comes up with, if love is _pointless_ as you said, wouldn’t that mean that everything is pointless as well?”

_Pathetic pathetic pathetic._

“Was all the time you spent with San pointless?”

Wooyoung’s eyes screw shut.

“No,” he says, ducking his head down. “No, it wasn’t.”

“If you don’t feel love, fine. That’s you. But don’t claim that love doesn’t exist or that love dies. You, having never loved somebody before, don’t know that. Do not speak over the people whose love never expires.”

Wooyoung thinks about his parents. He thinks about San’s.

_“And from my perspective, it’s like they never lost that love.”_

“I just… I want to _let go_ , hyung. I want to stop feeling like I’m on the brink of something terrible. I want to jump, I want to drown, I want the whirlpool to take me away.”

“Wooyoung—”

“I’m not going to kill myself. I’m _not_ , I promise. But I want to _die_ , hyung. I want to start again. I want to rip out every single fucking page and start anew but my pen’s out of ink and my hand is cramping up and I want to _die_ , hyung.”

Hongjoong looks at him with overwhelming sympathy.

“I see.”

Wooyoung swallows boiling hot seawater and wishes he could just evaporate.

“Do what you must to rewrite that rulebook of yours, Wooyoung-ah. But please, be kind to yourself.”

✲

The next time Wooyoung sees San, it’s at 1:03 in the morning and the pathways are dimly lit. On a patch of grass, San lays with his back on a blanket, knees bent with one leg resting on the other’s knee. He has his hands behind his head as he looks up at the night sky, white wires protruding from his ears.

“Hey.” Wooyoung approaches him because they’re _friends._

San pulls one earbud out. “Oh. Hey.”

“Kinda late, isn’t it?” Wooyoung asks.

“I don’t sleep much,” San replies with a shrug. He glances at the space next to him. “Wanna sit?”

Wooyoung nods and sits on the blanket, crossing his legs. “Listening to Hongjoong’s show?” he asks.

San shakes his head. “It’s his EP, actually.”

“Wait, seriously? Holy shit, he finished it?”

“Not entirely, no. He’s finished the songs, yeah, but these are the rough drafts. He’s having me listen to them for feedback before he polishes them up.”

“How is it so far?”

San holds the removed earbud out to him and looks at him with those _same fucking eyes_ , like nothing has changed, because really, nothing has changed. San is still in love with him.

His eyes still hold the same warmth and he still looks locked in a permanent smile no matter how small it may be. He still has tiny birthmarks on his neck that look like points on a treasure map, his skin still so effortlessly glows and his hair is still the color of the midnight sky.

Wooyoung lies down next to him and puts the earbud in.

“This song is called ‘A Thousand Umbrellas,’” San tells him. “He said he was inspired a lot by you.”

_Inspired._

_What about me is so inspirational?_

“I can see why,” San adds, as if things couldn’t get any worse.

But he doesn’t explain why. Wooyoung wants to ask him why.

The lyrics are about someone holding onto a single umbrella while nine hundred ninety-nine more float around them in a sky full of cotton candy clouds. Hongjoong sings of wonder. He sings of tranquility. And he sings of love.

The person meets their lover on the other side.

“Did you like it?” San asks at the end of it.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, because it’s the truth.

San nods. “Good.”

“San—”

“What, Wooyoung?” San lets out a half chuckle with a one-half smile.

“I just… Mingi said you’ve been upset, Hongjoong-hyung said you’re being aloof, and—”

“Wooyoung.” San smile grows fractionally wider. Reassuring brown eyes and dimples. “It’s okay. I told you. It’s hard, yeah, but it’s just something I’ll have to go through. And trust me, I’m not mad at you or anything like that. You feel what you feel… or, don’t feel, I guess. I don’t mean to avoid you or anything like that. I really truly do still like seeing you and hanging out with you.”

They are reassuring words. But they do nothing to reassure Wooyoung.

“My feelings for you aren’t just going to vanish overnight, but I’ll make it work so we can keep hanging out and stuff.”

And that reassuring smile.

But this time around, Wooyoung is far from reassured.

✲

As soon as Wooyoung declares his major, his entire schedule changes.

_Graphic design._

He’s not prepared. Sure, he has all of his general requirements out of the way because of the two fucking years he spent dicking around, but now, he’s enrolled in art classes that challenge everything he knows. Drawing, painting, art history. What the fuck ever. Wooyoung doesn’t know.

But as he learns about focal points and shading and where the light hits and shadows form, he finds himself more intrigued day by day.

His doodles start to look not so much like doodles. San’s colored pencils require a lot more sharpening.

_“Well, maybe that’s your calling, then.”_

He has a graphite pencil to paper that isn’t from his journal and smiles.

✲

_I finally declared a major. Graphic design._

_Don’t know exactly what I’m going to do with it. But San’s a photography major, and he told me he doesn’t exactly know what he’s going to do with it either. He said he’d rather study something he actually enjoys than be miserable doing something he doesn’t. I guess I think the same._

_I told my aunt. She sounded really happy for me. I still don’t know exactly how to feel about it, but art is really interesting. A lot more complicated than I thought, but still interesting. It’s weird._

_Maybe I could be a tattoo artist or something! Ah, but that’s some pretty hopeful thinking… maybe. I don’t know. But it feels good, finally having declared a major after so long. It feels like I’m not entirely drifting like I was before, you know?_

_I told Hongjoong, and he gave me a really proud, wide smile. Like, ninety-three percent. And he held my hand and told me that he was so happy for me. I mean, I don’t really understand why since it’s kinda sad that it’s taken me so long to declare a major and I have to spend an extra year or two taking courses to actually complete said major… but hey, at least I’ll have a degree._

_I haven’t told San yet. We still talk, just not as often. I don’t know. I think I’m starting not to care; is that bad? Maybe Yunho is right. Maybe I’ve lost the ability to feel empathy. I don’t know._

_But maybe I should tell San. ~~I think he’d be proud of me.~~_

✲

Midterms are no longer midterms for Wooyoung. More like mid _projects._

And yet, not a single time has his head hit his sketchpad or his canvas or his textbook (the one for art history, not statistics anymore, thank god). He finds himself immersed, sometimes a little too much, in his work, and even though there are guidelines, he likes to hide tiny pieces of himself in everything he creates.

For his midproject for his drawing class, he has to do a piece that displays every technique he’s learned up until this point. Nothing specific.

So he draws his shark therapist.

It’s a bit grotesque, perhaps a little disturbing, but his professor has come to know that about him.

“You’ve got quite the imagination, hm?” she’d said after he handed in his first evaluation, being a carnivorous plant with a cat’s body.

Wooyoung, as the new kid in the class and the art realm in general, just nodded. “I can see it in your face. You’ve got a lot going on up there. I’m excited to see what you bring to the table.”

However, even though he enjoys what he’s doing, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get stressed. His hand cramps up on multiple occasions. Sharpening pencils has now begun to sound like nails against a chalkboard. He’s seeing splotches in the sides of his vision when he’s awake at three in the morning while Hongjoong’s tunes play. Not exactly healthy.

But for once, it feels like he’s _doing something._

He sighs, setting his pencil down as he finishes the last stroke of his shark therapist. It’s somewhat of a reverse merman—Yunho as the bottom half and a shark as the top half, and the shark’s mouth has a pair of struggling legs sticking out of it.

He glances over at the canvas for his painting class, a smaller piece, of a field of golden flowers where two of his friends are having a lovely picnic while his gravestone is so conveniently placed in the background. It reads ‘Promiscuous Imbecile.’

He thinks to himself, Hongjoong found his calling. San did too.

So why can’t he?

✲

**[sanshine]**

_heard you declared graphic design as your major! congrats!!_

_i actually did take electronic design lol_

_pretty cool stuff, i think you’ll like it_

**[promiscuous imbecile]**

_oh haha thanks_

_it’s pretty cool so far, think i’ve “found my calling,” as hongjoong-hyung said_

_the midprojects are killing me tho_

_i need a drink_

**[sanshine]**

_oof yeah i get that_

_well if you’re gonna drink make sure someone’s there to look after you_

_don’t want history to repeat itself yknow lol_

**[promiscuous imbecile]**

_yeahhh lol_

_i’ll be ok dw_

**[sanshine]**

_i’ll always worry about you, wooyoung._

_and i don’t think i have to remind you of the reason._

✲

_Who am I at this point in time?:_

_-I still don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever know._

_What do I want to be?:_

_-Something different. Something better than before._

He draws building blocks.

✲

“Are you going to the semi annual end of midterms party?” Yunho asks him on the Thursday before said party.

“Maybe, haven’t been to a party in a while.”

Yunho eyes him suspiciously. “Mhm.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Mingi and I are actually not going. Yeosang and Seonghwa might, though. Jongho’s definitely going.”

“Why aren’t you and Mingi going?” Wooyoung asks, raising his glass of water to his mouth.

Yunho smirks, sixty percent. “We have a date.”

Wooyoung nearly drowns. “I’m sorry, you _what_?”

“It was really cute, when he asked me out. He was like, ‘hey, so, can we go to dinner on Friday? But like, _dinner_ dinner, if you know what I mean.’ So cute.” Yunho giggles. “But yeah, we have a date, so we’re not going to the party.”

“Well it’s about fucking time he asked you out, Jesus. The pining was killing me.”

Yunho raises an eyebrow. “Seems as if you know how I feel.”

With a frustrated scoff, Wooyoung leaves the living room and locks himself in his bedroom, where he rummages through his clothes to find an outfit for the party tomorrow.

**[promiscuous imbecile]**

_yo are u and hwa and/or jongho going to the party tomorrow_

**[the gay]**

_yeah me and jongho why_

**[promiscuous imbecile]**

_why not hwa_

**[the gay]**

_eh, he’s busy with science shit idk_

_but yeah me and jongho are going_

_u going too?_

**[promiscuous imbecile]**

_yeah, need someone to hold my hair back in case i puke my guts up!!_

_i mean i’ll try my best to not make that happen_

**[the gay]**

_ok lol sure_

_also u?? going to a party after so long?? what changed darling??_

**[promiscuous imbecile]**

_a lot_

_don’t wanna talk about it_

_i just wanna get drunk_

**[the gay]**

_oh i felt that in my balls, honey_

_what about san? is he/yunho/mingi going?_

**[promiscuous imbecile]**

_no they’re too busy being in love_

**[the gay]**

_wait what?? san in love?? what??????_

_HELLO???!?!?!??_

✲

It’s been so long, way too long, since Wooyoung has been to a party like this.

He remembers. He’s had the layouts of various houses and alcohol locations skewered into his brain. And coincidentally enough, this is the same house of the person who threw last year’s autumn post-midterm celebration.

The party he’d met San at.

But he’s trying his best not to think about that at the moment.

Greeted by the fumes of cigarette and weed and alcohol, Wooyoung makes a beeline straight for the center display, the tower of alcohol bottles and cans. He doesn’t bother with the eenie meenie’s and instead plucks a bottle out of the ice bucket, not caring what it is, and slams the spout of the bottle down on the table to pop the cap off.

“Sheesh, someone’s eager,” Yeosang comments as Wooyoung chugs whatever is in the bottle. Beer, ew. Makes him think of Yunho.

“Look, okay, I haven’t gotten drunk in a hot minute and I just want to forget about my problems.”

Yeosang chuckles. “Don’t we all.”

“Oh, where’d Jongho-yah go?”

“Don’t know, I’m not his guardian.”

Wooyoung nods and chugs the last half of the bottle. “Jesus, you must _really_ have a lot on your plate, darling. What’s up? You can tell me,” Yeosang says, bumping his hip against Wooyoung’s as he grabs an unoccupied bottle of, get this, _watermelon_ vodka.

“It’s stupid,” Wooyoung says, watching as Yeosang downs what must be at least two shots worth. He passes the bottle to Wooyoung, wiping his mouth.

“I’m guessing it has something to do with Sannie. You did mention something about him being in love. And Mingi and Yunho. Sheesh, I’m really out of the loop, aren’t I? I’m a terrible friend.”

“You’re not, don’t worry.” Wooyoung laughs and tips the bottle into his mouth, the clear liquid slithering down his throat and leaving a cool, sweet burn, like a scorching hot watermelon would. “But yeah, Yunho and Mingi are sort of becoming a thing now. Guess Mingi’s not entirely straight like we thought.”

“Mhm. And San?”

“I’m not drunk enough to talk about him yet,” Wooyoung says, taking another swig.

“Mm, do I feel you on that one.”

“What’s going on with you and Seonghwa?” Wooyoung asks.

Yeosang shrugs. “We broke up.”

Wooyoung coughs, watermelon particles rising in his throat before ultimately being pushed back down. “Wait, really? What happened?”

“I don’t know, it was kind of a mutual thing. Sparks flew for a little while and it was fun while it lasted, but I’m ready to be a hoe again.”

Wooyoung gulps, taking another shot and leaving one for Yeosang at the bottom. He hands it over. “Did… did you love him?” Wooyoung asks, the question sour on his taste buds.

“Maybe. Maybe not. He’s a lovely person, just not the one for me. I feel like… if I really did love him, I’d be a little more distraught, but I’m not.” Yeosang shrugs. “Well, in the time I’m trying to find mister right, I might as well have me some fun times while I’m at it. Wasn’t that your motto at some point?”

Wooyoung scoffs and reaches behind him for another bottle or can or _whatever._ Anything. “I was never trying to find ‘mister right,’ mind you. I don’t do relationships.”

“Mm. So why don’t you tell me about Sannie? Are you drunk enough yet?”

Twisting off a cap to a bottle of soju, Wooyoung says, “He’s in love.”

“Oh? With who?”

The soju is plain. “Nobody important.”

“Ah. Are you jealous?”

Wooyoung shoots daggers at him, pointing the nozzle threateningly in his direction. “How many times have I told you? I don’t do relationships and don’t have feelings for San.”

Yeosang nods lazily. “Mm, okay. I believe you.”

Wooyoung retracts the bottle-sword and gives Yeosang a confused look. “Wait, you do?”

“You’ve told me enough times. Maybe it’s about time I believed you.” Yeosang snatches the bottle from Wooyoung’s hold and takes a total of five gulps. Wooyoung counts. “Now, anyways, let’s dance, Wooyoungie.”

“Uh—”

But then Yeosang is grabbing his condensation-soaked hand and leading him to the dance floor. Spinning himself under Wooyoung’s arm, _familiar_ , he collides with Wooyoung’s front before tilting his head back and laughing. “How long has it been since you’ve gone to a party?” Yeosang asks, nodding his head to the beats.

“Several months. I think… it was around Christmas last year. Before we all went on winter break.”

“Damn, almost a year since mister slutty dickhead Jung Wooyoung has been to a party? You really do need to take a load off.” Yeosang smirks, tapping the soju bottle’s spout against Wooyoung’s lips.

Yeosang is just barely taller than him. It’s such a strange thing to notice, and now, Wooyoung realizes that he’s never been _so close_ to Yeosang before.

He remembers subtly flirting with Yeosang in the beginning. And fuck, if Wooyoung still doesn’t think he’s damn attractive, what with his sculpted jaw and wide eyes and a smirk that could make everyone swoon and drop to their knees.

He may be reading the room wrong, as his brain is starting to feel the beginning effects of all the alcohol he’d drunk in such a short amount of time, but he swears he can feel Yeosang getting even closer.

“Hey, Wooyoungie, how drunk would you say you are right now?” Yeosang asks, a devious tone.

“Uh… not that drunk at the moment, why?”

“Mm… because.”

Yeosang then sways his body to the left, right, before landing a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder. “I think we should _dance_ , Wooyoungie.”

Type. Search bar. _Grab his hips, dumbass._

So he does.

Yeosang encloses his other hand around Wooyoung, pulling him in until their chests are pressed together and Wooyoung can smell the alcohol on his skin.

“You know, Woo,” Yeosang says, bringing one hand to Wooyoung’s shirt and teasing a single finger beneath the collar, “don’t get me wrong, you _are_ very attractive. I understand that I was a bit… standoffish when we first met, and I apologize for that.”

“It’s fine,” Wooyoung says, smirking.

“How ironic it was, that I asked how to be a hoe from a professional hoe but didn’t fuck said hoe. And on top of that, I had the audacity to judge you based on the number of people you fucked. If I really wanted to learn, shouldn’t I have experienced it for myself?”

One finger turns into two. And then three. And then that hand drops to another area entirely.

“Wooyoungie, I do believe you know what I’m insinuating.”

Of course.

Because Wooyoung is not new to this.

“I do.”

“Would you like me to stop?”

Wooyoung glances at the bottle in Yeosang’s hand and takes it. “No, not really,” he says, “but if we’re doing this, no more drinks.”

Yeosang smirks. Ninety-nine percent.

“Fair.”

Hand in hand, Wooyoung guides Yeosang upstairs, plopping the bottle down on a random step. He rounds a corner to a room on his left, and there’s a sign hanging from the door that says ‘vacant/do not disturb.” He flips it around.

_Now why does this all seem so familiar?_

They’re pressed up against the door when Yeosang kisses him, lips so plush and supple that move in ways that are just as beautiful as he is. His hands tug at Wooyoung’s collar, urging him to remove his shirt.

_Why? Why is this so fucking familiar?_

Yeosang’s skin is so smooth and he smells like candy.

_Candy. Cotton candy._

Wooyoung can’t get enough of it.

Yeosang’s mouth disconnects and latches onto his jaw, then his neck.

Oh fuck. His neck.

“ _Fuck_ , Yeo—” A moan escapes him as he throws a hand into Yeosang’s hair, holding his head in place. Yeosang chuckles into his skin, some sort of deep mischief, before taking the skin of Wooyoung’s neck between his teeth. “Oh my _god_.”

“Mm, you’re sensitive here, aren’t you?” Yeosang coos, running his tongue along the bite.

“C-clearly,” Wooyoung manages.

“Cute.” Yeosang sucks another bruise into the skin.

_This isn’t familiar. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go._

_What’s happening?_

The words are locked in his throat because Yeosang has his mouth on it.

And from his skin blooms bruises.

And the last person to make those bruises bloom was…

“Fuck,” Wooyoung grunts, gripping Yeosang’s hair even tighter. The pain is intensifying, the burn is multiplying. He imagines there are so _many_ , a whole field of purple, like the flower fields from…

“Baby,” Yeosang moans, one of his hands grabbing onto the growing bulge in Wooyoung’s jeans.

_Baby._

_It’s Yeosang._

_This isn’t right. Wait._

_What’s going on?_

It doesn’t sound right. Even in Yeosang’s deep, velvet smooth voice, the word doesn’t sound quite right. It makes Wooyoung’s stomach queasy and his skin tingly.

When Yeosang finally releases Wooyoung’s neck, he finally has the chance to breathe.

But that doesn’t make it any less dizzying.

He feels it. He feels water sloshing against his skin, the waves crashing upon his shore. It’s a familiar sensation most definitely. It’s pleasant. But it’s not _right._

He’s being caressed. But it’s not _right._ It’s not how he remembers it.

A wet warmth encases him. His skin erupts in goosebumps. It’s still not _right._

_Why isn’t it right?_

A storm brews in his gut.

The waves come crashing down.

In those few moments of euphoria, Wooyoung lets the water take him away, because that’s what he wanted all along, right? For the water to sweep him up and let him go?

He lands ashore. He’s breathing.

A single umbrella, the color of every, floats overhead.

“Woo. Hey.” There’s a nudging at his shoulder.

A voice brings him back down.

“What? What’s wrong?” Wooyoung asks, glancing around the room. He’s naked, sticky.

“Nothing… are you okay?” Yeosang is looking at him with worried eyes.

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

He glances down. Yeosang is still in his underwear.

“Well, you came, and then you just kind of… I don’t know, disconnected? Like, you weren’t responding to me. Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Wooyoung says. “Sorry… I, uh, must’ve had a little too much to drink.”

Yeosang chuckles and shrugs. “Mm, well, what can you do? That was fun, still. Thanks for letting me do that.”

_Fuck._

_Fuck fuck fuck._

_What did he do?_

“Do you need help getting home, Woo? I can call you an Uber.”

Wooyoung nods mindlessly.

“Well, come on, then,” Yeosang says, getting up from the bed. “Get dressed and drink some water and then we’ll go, okay?”

Wooyoung nods again. Yeosang has to help him get dressed.

They’re in the car, two water bottles later, and Yeosang says, “Wooyoung. I don’t think we should do that again.”

_I don’t think we should either. Whatever it is that we did._

“Okay.”

“It’s okay,” Yeosang says, putting a hand over Wooyoung’s. “Maybe another time, when we don’t have alcohol in our systems. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Wooyoung gets dropped off first. He’s able to walk. His throat is a bit parched, but it’s nothing some more water can’t fix. He can still see, his head doesn’t hurt all that much. He waves at Yeosang goodbye before the car rolls away.

Yunho is there to greet him at the door.

“Hey, Woo! How was the—”

Wooyoung wobbles past him.

“Wooyoung… dude.”

“I’m going to bed.”

And this time, he actually does.

✲

Fuck it, Wooyoung thinks.

He’s done trying. He’s not going to try.

He’s done it before. He’s let the universe take control of his life. He’s drifted aimlessly through life for so long; he can do it again.

So that’s what he does. He doesn’t try.

He’s at the café, shading in some umbrellas when a familiar set of sounds signal the entrance of Kim Hongjoong.

“Wooyoungie! How are you… oh.”

Wooyoung glances up. “What?”

Hongjoong is gawking at his neck. “You… what did you do?”

“What do you mean ‘what did I do?’” Wooyoung asks.

“Who… gave those to you?” Hongjoong face spells horror. Or something like that.

“A friend,” Wooyoung answers nonchalantly.

“Wooyoung, you have to leave. Now.”

“Why?”

“Just—” Hongjoong lets out a quick exhale through his nose and pinches the bridge of it. “Just _go_ , Wooyoung. You need to leave.”

Wooyoung doesn’t have a problem with that. He’s done trying, after all.

So he shuts his journal and packs it back into his bag along with his other sketchbooks, his colored pencils, and stands up to leave when he sees Hongjoong peering over his shoulder.

He simply rolls his eyes and leaves, just like Hongjoong told him to do.

As he walks, a familiar wave washes over him, one that surrounds him with the comforting scent of weed and cotton candy.

He keeps walking.

✲

**[yuunhoe]**

_dude. you are literally such a fucking idiot like ARE YOU KIDDING ME??????_

_DUDE YOU FUCKED UP SO BAD_

_WHO THE HELL DID YOU HOOK UP WITH_

_DUDE ANSWER YOUR FUCKING TEXTS THIS ISNT FUNNY ANYMORE_

_WHY ARENT YOU ANSWERING ME IK YOURE SEEING THESE_

_oh my god wooyoung_

_and just when i thought you couldn’t fuck up anymore_

Wooyoung sighs and locks his phone. The sky is so dark tonight; it must be a new moon. It smells like rotting coriander and smoke here. His feet hurt, just a little bit.

“Hey.”

Wooyoung turns around.

“Oh, hey.”

San is looking at him with pleading eyes and a thirty-five percent smile.

 _“Why won’t you love me?”_ Hot tears pour from his face. It’s melting. Much like Yunho’s mouth, it will end up on the deck. Formless, bodiless San.

“So… did you have fun at the party?” San asks.

Wooyoung shrugs. “Yeah, it was okay.”

“That’s good.”

A silent storm sits menacingly above their heads.

And then San sighs. Exhausted.

“Wooyoung, look—”

Wooyoung closes his eyes.

“San, I know what you’re going to say—”

“Do you, Wooyoung? Do you _really_ know what I’m going to say?” San’s smile wears off. His eyes seem wider, and his brows are tense. His entire face is tense, like it would explode, and not into a firework. “Wooyoung, you don’t know a damn thing.”

“Fine,” Wooyoung says, “then enlighten me. What are you going to say?”

San sucks in his bottom lip, letting out another exasperated breath. “The truth is… Wooyoung, I can’t just sit around and see you all comfortable with hooking up again. You might not be able to understand because you don’t do love or whatever, but when you love someone and they go and have sex with someone else and you can’t do anything about it, it _hurts._ It hurts to love you, Wooyoung. And I swore that I’d stop hurting myself.”

A searing red line slices through Wooyoung’s vision.

“I can’t just ‘be your friend’ either. I _tried_ , Wooyoung, I really did. I _told_ you that I love you and I thought I could still be your friend, but I just can’t do it. Not when you can still hook up with other people and act like it doesn’t matter because... because it does to me _._ I can’t… I can’t be in your life, and you can’t be in mine without me feeling hurt. And I know you’re not gonna stop hooking up with other people because… that’s just who you are, and I can’t change that.”

Even under such shitty lighting and a starless sky, Wooyoung can see San’s eyes turn cold.

 _“But that’s not who I am!”_ he wants to scream. He wants to scream it. He wants to declare it to the void, the cold, starless sky. But he’s not on a cliff, and there’s no one behind him to catch him if he falls.

_But if that’s not who I am, then who am I?_

“It’s not your fault, Wooyoung. Please don’t feel like it is. It’s my problem, I’m the one who caught feelings for someone who doesn’t feel them. This is my issue. So… maybe we can be friends again someday, when I learn how to stop loving you. It’s just… I know it’s gonna be hard because fuck, I am so goddamn in love with you that it feels like I’ll never be able to see you again.”

Wooyoung can feel something slipping away.

There was a time. He’s trying to remember.

When San held him. And _he_ was the one who begged him not to leave.

And San told him he wasn’t going anywhere.

_What happened?_

“Even if we do become friends again, I feel as if there will always be a part of me that loves you.” San’s voice cracks. Wooyoung has never heard it do that.

_Don’t go. Please. Don’t go._

The sharpest ends of the umbrellas are digging into his tongue. The hornets’ stingers have left his body motionless. There is water in his lungs, sweat on his brow, and a supernova in his chest. All of which leave him speechless.

How did this happen? Wooyoung was trying to get him to _stay._ He doesn’t want San to leave.

He doesn’t want San to leave.

But he also doesn’t want San to hurt.

And San will hurt if he stays.

_“What’s the point of going through so much heartache just for it to end entirely? Love just hurts you.”_

“Please just… don’t message me anymore. Don’t ask Yunho or Mingi to play messenger for you. I need to be away from you.”

_No. Please, don’t go. Don’t leave. Don’t… don’t walk out on me and never come back. I can’t go through that again._

Wooyoung is drowning in his words.

And with all of his shakiness and trembling lips and teary eyes, San still manages a forty percent smile. “And even after everything, I still love you, Wooyoung. But I need to go.”

So Wooyoung watches him go, because he has no other choice. Even if he were to look away, what difference would it make? He would still watch San land at the harbor, safe and sound from the suffering, while he resumes his journey on the ship _alone._

But San is hurt. He’s _hurting._

He can say it’s not Wooyoung’s fault all he wants, but Wooyoung knows. He _knows. He’s not fucking stupid._

Everything he was trying to avoid happened.

Wooyoung didn’t want San to leave.

Wooyoung didn’t want to be hurt.

But in the process, neither of those became reality.

_And he was the mastermind behind all of it._

✲

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” is the first thing Yunho says to him as soon as he opens the door.

“I know,” he says, already heading for his bedroom. “I _know._ ”

He slams his bedroom door behind him and sinks to the floor.

The maybe-ghost is sitting in his desk chair. It’s blond.

“Did you ever fall in love?” Wooyoung asks it.

It shrugs. _“Maybe. But what does it matter? You said it yourself, everything has an expiration date. And love dies, just like I did.”_

“Did it hurt?”

_“Wooyoung, pain is unavoidable. Love may be a bringer of pain, but it’s only one of many. You can’t just sit in your perfect little bubble and expect not to be hurt just because you don’t feel love.”_

Wooyoung clenches and unclenches his fingers. It hurts.

_“You remember what San said to you, right? He said, ‘So let the hearts break if they must, but let them thrive too.’”_

Wooyoung remembers. He remembers _now_ , of all times.

If only he’d remembered when Yeosang had his mouth on his neck.

“It’s all I’ve ever known,” Wooyoung murmurs, hugging his knees to his chest. “Nobody really loves me. They’re just lying to themselves. San… he doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t love me. He _can’t_ love me because I’m unlovable.”

Wooyoung grabs two fistfuls of his hair.

 _“You’re not unlovable, sweetie. I love you. Your aunt loves you. Your brother loves you. It’s just that there are going to be people who hurt you by saying that they love you when they don’t mean it. So be careful._ ”

“I don’t know what’s fucking true anymore!” Wooyoung shouts into an empty room.

No fairy lights. No maybe-ghost. No San.

_No San._

Because San is gone. He’s hurting, but he’s free. He’s free from the ship that Wooyoung held him captive on. A victim, that’s what San is. By Wooyoung’s hand.

Wooyoung is the one who set him on fire, after all.

 _“How can you know the pain of love if you don’t know the joy of it?”_ someone asks him.

“I don’t,” Wooyoung says, barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t know the joy of love, nor the pain, because he’s never felt love.

_He’s never felt love._

But then why is he here, on the floor, feeling as if sand is pouring out from either side of his heart? Each beat pumps out more and more. And he can feel every single grain clogging the veins and arteries, rendering his body practically useless against his bedroom door.

Something broke the hourglass in his heart. Something poked holes in his umbrellas. And something made the waves bearable, breathable, and reminiscent of cotton candy and cannabis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides*  
> dont forget, if you have any songs that this fic makes you think of, please let me know! i wanna put together a playlist :D
> 
> also i want to clarify something: when wooyoung said he wants to die, he doesn't mean he wants to literally die. i'll let you interpret what he actually means.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)


	9. ready for the downslide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wooyoung turns around again, for the nth time. The crowd is still waiting patiently for him to take his final steps.
> 
> He closes his eyes.
> 
> “Eomma… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do what you told me to. I couldn’t do what I promised you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! this chapter is pretty heavy, a lot of dialogue too.
> 
> there are discussions of trauma and a non-graphic suicide attempt (none of the members). please read with caution.

**[the gay]**

_so_

_a not so little birdy told me something very interesting_

_we need to talk_

**[promiscuous imbecile]**

_what kind of bird was it?_

**[the gay]**

_i don’t have the time nor patience to deal with your pretentious banter at the moment_

_lets get high and talk, ok?_

**[promiscuous imbecile]**

_you had me at “lets get high”_

✲

It’s been a little while since Wooyoung has actually smoked. It’s fair to say he coughs a little more than he normally would.

But he feels a little self-destructive. Inhaling smoke isn’t the most pleasant thing to do. With the gummy bears, at least he gets that sticky, sugary, fruity goodness along with the high. He doesn’t deserve that now, though.

So he settles for smoking one of Yeosang’s shittily rolled joints instead. The high does little to soothe the waves.

“So,” Yeosang begins, and Wooyoung braces for impact. “I’d like to say that I’m just as to blame for this, but then I remember you distinctly told me San wasn’t in love with anybody important.”

“I’m not important,” Wooyoung mutters under his breath.

“Put all that self-deprecating shit aside for just a few minutes, would you?” Yeosang huffs. “For the longest time, you told me that you don’t have feelings for San and that you don’t do relationships. Which, fine. I’d imagine that’s still the case. But this one time I decided to believe you, you went along with my advances, _lied_ about who San was in love with, and let me blow you. I’ll tell you this right now, Wooyoungie, had I known _you_ were the one San was in love with, I wouldn’t have tried to make that move on you.”

Wooyoung wants to sink into the armchair and become part of its cushion. How amazing it would be to become a giant lump of couch stuffing.

“I get it, okay? I get it, what I did was shitty,” Wooyoung says. The obnoxious glow of Yeosang’s rainbow fish tank is too harsh on his smoke-irritated eyes. He closes them, and he sees purple instead. “I’ve heard enough from Yunho about how I’m an idiot, how I fucked up, blah blah blah.”

“But do you understand _why_ what you did was shitty?”

“You’re just as guilty as I am, Yeosang-ah. Don’t try to pin this all on me.”

Yeosang chews his bottom lip, eyes honed in on the rainbow fish tank as well, watching as the tiny fish skitter around happily, free from an environment consisting of their own excrements. He’s a really good fish dad, Wooyoung thinks. He can’t be mad at Yeosang.

He can’t be mad at anybody but himself.

He _knows_ he’s the mastermind behind it all. Half-blaming Yeosang doesn’t make him feel any better.

“Maybe I’m a little guilty,” Yeosang admits. “You seemed really into it at first. But what happened afterwards… it was honestly kind of scary, Woo. You let me blow you, which was good and all, but towards the end, you seemed really out of it, like you weren’t all _there._ And when you came, you had this weird look on your face, like you were in a different dimension or something. Where I’m guilty… I feel like maybe I should’ve picked up on the signs beforehand. I shouldn’t have been so quick to believe you. So yes, you’re right, while I am guilty in some aspects, I do not believe I am as guilty as you.”

Wooyoung winces from both the overwhelming rainbow and the electric shock of guilt that rings at his core.

“Dissociation,” he mumbles.

“Come again?”

“Hongjoong-hyung said something about that. Dissociation.”

“Like, when you detach yourself from reality and space out? That?”

Wooyoung nods. “It’s more than just spacing out sometimes, Yeosang-ah,” he says. “It’s like… I blink, and all of a sudden I’m in a completely new world, a new time, and several minutes, sometimes even hours, have passed. One moment, I’m here, and the next, I’m on the S.S. Suffering waiting to jump. And I forget a ton of shit. I… honestly don’t even remember you blowing me.”

Two of Yeosang’s fish are playing a game of tag. Oh, how caged and free they are at the same time. Wooyoung wishes he could be the latter.

“Hongjoong-hyung said it might be the brain’s way of coping with trauma,” Wooyoung continues, eyes flicking over to Yeosang. He’s still staring at the tank.

“Trauma, huh?” Yeosang sounds almost amused. “Yunho-yah said something along the lines of that. Well, not _trauma_ , but a long time ago, after a party, we had to carry you home because you were drunk. And he said that he thinks you drink to cope.”

Wooyoung scoffs, but Yeosang continues with, “He never mentioned what it was you were coping with because he didn’t know, and you never talk about your problems. So I guess it was just easier to face slutty dickhead Wooyoung for what he was on the surface.”

“Well, he knows now,” Wooyoung says, thinking back to the times Yunho has found him by a door.

He can only imagine how Yunho would react if a belt was tied around his neck.

“And I don’t?” Yeosang asks, sounding offended. “Do you not think I’m someone you can confide in?”

“It took me a whole year to open up to Yunho. And he still doesn’t know a lot, not to mention opening up to him was an accident to begin with.”

“How was it an accident?”

“He found me sitting in front of my door with a belt in my hand and he thought I was going to hang myself.”

Yeosang’s head immediately whips towards him, finally. “ _What_?”

“I wasn’t going to,” Wooyoung reassures. “Before I transferred here, I was at a different university, and there was a guy on my floor who hung himself from his door with a belt.”

“Holy shit.”

“I guess you could say that traumatized me. I don’t know. You know I don’t feel a lot, but…”

_Someone opened my rulebook. Someone found the key, unlocked it, forced it open, and all the ink spilled out. And I couldn’t stop it._

“There is a lot wrong with me, Yeosang. I think I’ve always known that, but I was never willing to admit it. My parents were fucked up, a guy at my last university killed himself, and I think I’m unlovable.”

Yeosang’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “Now why on earth would you think that? Everyone’s deserving of love.”

A corner of Wooyoung’s mouth turns up in a two percent smile.

“Sounds a lot like something San would say.”

Yeosang hums, his own mouth stretching into a five percent smile.

“Sounds like he’s on your mind just as much as you are on his.”

“Doubt it,” Wooyoung mutters, twiddling his fingers.

“Well, he’s in love with you, isn’t he?” Wooyoung nods, though he resists the urge to cringe. “Wooyoung-ah, sometimes, when you’re in love with someone, they’re the only thing on your mind. And I’m certain that you are still at the forefront of San’s mind.”

Wooyoung keeps twiddling his thumbs, occasionally glancing up at the rainbow that is Yeosang’s fish tank. Love is love, they say.

 _“Maybe that’s all there is to it,”_ San tells him, rainbow-framed sunglasses covering his eyes. He’s whole again.

“Is my fish still alive?” Wooyoung asks.

“Yup,” Yeosang answers, pointing at the tank. It’s impossible to tell what exact fish he’s pointing at what with all them zooming around in the water like there’s nothing troubling them.

“Pity.”

✲

Wooyoung buys a coffee machine. He tries to buy the one most similar to the one he had back home. It’s the same brand with only a few different buttons, but overall, it’s easy to operate and all too familiar.

It’s easier for San this way, if he stays away from the café. He imagines San and Hongjoong still have their meetings there, and he figures it’ll be easier on San’s heart if he just doesn’t go there at all.

When he makes his first cup of coffee at home for the first time in years, in a mug instead of a paper cup, he realizes that he doesn’t have the packets of sugar or cream. He has milk and that’s it.

The coffee ends up being unbearably bitter and not the right color of brown. It makes Wooyoung grimace, as it’s like an incursion on his taste buds, but he swallows it down and remembers what San’s mother said.

It’s too bitter, but he takes another sip and ignores the salt and sand piling in his lungs.

He’s trying to handle it.

✲

_It’s been… a week or two since I last saw San. I think. Maybe three. I don’t know. I’m really bad at keeping track of time nowadays._

_I’m doing okay. I’ve been keeping up with homework and projects because I know I need to do that to stay on top of academics and make these scholarships worth it. Yeosang texts me more often, which is weird. I think he’s worried about me, like Yunho is. Except Yunho hasn’t really been talking to me, which I get. He’s still pissed at me, I’m guessing, and since Mingi is roommates with San and also can’t keep his mouth shut, I’m sure Yunho hears a lot about how San is doing._

_It’s weird now. I’m stuck in my room because if I go out, there’s a chance I could see San and San could see me and I don’t want to put him through that. He said he needs to be away from me. How long for, he didn’t specify. However long it takes to fall out of love, I guess._

_But Yunho isn’t talking to me and my coffee doesn’t taste right and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alone._

_I don’t know how I’m feeling. It’s just weird weird weird with me. Sad? Angry? Guilty? All of the above, maybe, but there’s a giant wave standing between me and my brain and I don’t know how to part it. I’m supposed to be feeling shit, aren’t I? Why am I not feeling shit?_

_I just want to sleep. I actually haven’t been dreaming, though. It’s like my brain is television static, or that really colorful screen with the bright stripes. There’s just nothing happening up there. I don’t know what’s going on. There should be shit going on up there._

_It’s like I’m feeling nothing at all, and I’m pretty sure that’s not normal._

✲

**[genius joong]**

_so_

_i believe a meeting is in order_

**[promiscuous imbecile]**

_idk about that hyung_

_the urge to punch me in the face must be pretty strong for you_

**[genius joong]**

_it seems as if you don’t know me all that well, as i am not one to perpetuate violence_

_i would like to have a few words with you though_

_as disappointed as i am, i am also worried_

_so do feel free to come over at your own convenience_

**[promiscuous imbecile]**

_if ur gonna tell me that im an idiot/i fucked up, i know that already_

_heard that enough from my roommate_

**[genius joong]**

_i don’t think you’re an idiot, wooyoung_

_i understand it must be loud in your brain sometimes, and what happened was a result of that_

_i want to understand why you did what you did, okay?_

_i’m not here to antagonize you_

**[promiscuous imbecile]**

_fine_

_um… how is san by the way_

**[genius joong]**

_well, wooyoung, as I’ve said before, san isn’t one to gossip_

_he isn’t one to divulge information about other people even if it involves him_

_this time around, he did_

_so i believe that speaks for itself_

✲

Hongjoong actually owns cream and sugar, just not the packets. Wooyoung tries again, but the blend is off and he adds too much sugar for his liking, but at least the shade of brown is close enough. While Wooyoung makes his coffee, Hongjoong sits on his throne, the ostentatious swivel chair by his makeshift ‘studio.’ Seonghwa is absent once again, leaving them alone to an enormous monitor with some psychedelic artwork as the wallpaper and red walls that seem a lot more somber this time around.

“So,” Hongjoong says once Wooyoung gets himself situated, “let’s hear your side of the story.”

“There are sides?” Wooyoung questions with a quirked eyebrow.

“Fine, let me rephrase that. What happened that made San so upset? I want to hear it from _you_.”

“I hooked up with my friend, Yeosang. I don’t know if you’ve met him. He’s the guy Seonghwa dated for a while—”

“Oh, I’ve met him,” Hongjoong says with a chuckle. “Had to get plenty acquainted to him, considering I walked in on him and Seonghwa fucking on that very sofa.” He points at the black leather couch right beside his mixing board. “They broke up, I’m aware of that.”

“Yeah. Well, we went to a party, had a little bit to drink, danced a bit, and we took it upstairs where… he blew me, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I dissociated then, I think.”

Hongjoong blinks at him, his expression undiscernible. “I don’t think it was because I was drunk. Really, it wasn’t that. I think… I think I dissociate when I get too overwhelmed, or… when I feel nothing at all,” Wooyoung goes on. “It sounds worse than it actually was. I consented. I was conscious and aware when it all started. But according to Yeosang, I lost touch with reality when I came, and… I kind of forgot what happened.”

“That sounds… scary, for a lack of better words,” Hongjoong says.

Wooyoung shrugs. “I honestly don’t even realize when it happens, not to mention I literally didn’t know what it was until you brought it up. I think that’s a thing that’s happening to me. Dissociation. Coping with… trauma.”

Hongjoong sits there with his mouth closed, a zero percent smile and frown. Like a therapist waiting for their client to talk, sans the shark teeth.

“Have you come to terms with it?” he finally asks after several moments of silence. “That you might have trauma, I mean.”

“I think so, yeah. It’s weird, though. It doesn’t feel like I do.”

“Trauma is different for everyone. What one considers traumatic may not be traumatic to another individual. Same with the aftereffects of it. One may feel overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions that come with remembering their trauma. Another may feel nothing at all.”

_Nothing at all._

“Look, Wooyoung, I’m not going to ask about your trauma because—”

“It’s fine, hyung. I’ve talked about it, actually. To my roommate, to Yeosang. To… San.”

His name tastes like saltwater taffy.

So he makes a copy of his rulebook and reads it aloud, recalling the events that he _does_ remember. Hongjoong listens intently, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. Wooyoung talks and talks and talks as a waterfall of words cascades from his mouth, so much at once that he stammers at points.

The longer he talks, the harder it is to breathe.

Like someone is driving a gel pen through his trachea and tearing out the pages and writing unspoken words in jet black ink.

“And San… San didn’t have to do so much for me. I’m not worth waiting over, I’m not worth a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of someone’s shoe. I don’t understand how he fell in love with me, whatever that means. I don’t know what he saw in me, what he thought was so special about me that he was willing to take me to Jeju Island and take a whole portfolio’s worth of pictures of me. Not when he’s actually loved and going places and kind and down to earth and I’m just… nothing.”

Wooyoung swallows a boulder covered in acid.

Hongjoong is looking at him with curved brows and a five percent frown. “You… you don’t think you’re loved?”

“I don’t _know_ , hyung. All the time, my mother’s told me that she loves me but that other people who say they love me don’t mean it and will only end up hurting me.”

“That’s an awful thing to tell a child,” Hongjoong says spitefully. “That’s… god, Wooyoung, I can’t even begin to tell you how untrue that is. And all of this stemmed from your father, correct?”

Wooyoung nods. “I get that it was just some protective measure because she didn’t want me to be hurt like she did. I get it. But Hongjoong-hyung, I… it’s all I’ve known. All I’ve known is heartache and pain and seeing my mother go insane and I don’t _want_ that, hyung. I don’t want to risk it, I don’t want to get hurt the way she did.”

“Is that what you’re so afraid of? Being hurt?”

Wooyoung’s eyes squeeze shut, _hard._

_Afraid. Scared. T E R R I F I E D._

Wooyoung, slutty dickhead, promiscuous imbecile, captain of the S.S. Suffering, _afraid_?

“It sounds so fucking stupid—”

“It’s not stupid, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong affirms, a bit aggressively. “What your mother taught you growing up is messed up, I’ll have you know. Instilling fear in a child that nobody will love them, and if they do, it’s a lie? That’s inconceivably toxic. I can see why you struggle so much with your emotions.”

Wooyoung’s head is so heavy in his hands, knees digging into his thighs. He wants to curl up into a ball and be shot out of a cannon into the sea.

“So is that what you’re afraid of?” Hongjoong asks again. “You’re afraid of being hurt like your mother was?”

Wooyoung bites the inside of his bottom lip, his very own vampire bat.

“I think so,” he says in a hoarse whisper.

Hongjoong sighs and leans back in his chair. “Wooyoung… love isn’t all fun and games, but it’s not as horrifying as you know it to be.”

“I know—”

“I don’t think you do,” Hongjoong interrupts with a bite to his bark. “You said it yourself, all you’ve known is heartache and pain because that’s what you grew up seeing. I understand how that would be traumatizing, how it would skew your perceptions, but you’ve told me that you don’t believe in love, that it doesn’t exist, and _that_ is where I’m telling you, you are _wrong._ ”

Wooyoung winces at Hongjoong’s sudden shift in tone. “What you witnessed growing up may have been love at one point. Perhaps your parents loved each other once. But what you saw with your own two eyes wasn’t love, it was the decay and destruction of it. It happens, as love isn’t perfect and _can_ fall apart, but that doesn’t mean it _will._ The love you grew up seeing isn’t the only love out there.”

For some reason, Wooyoung thinks of Yunho and Mingi’s kiss in the car, in the tunnel, with the gibberish songs in the background that may or may not exist.

“There is _so_ much love out there, Wooyoung-ah. And nobody likes to hurt, I understand that. Pain isn’t fun. But how can one know the joy of love if they refuse to let themselves feel the pain?”

 _For San to learn how to love himself, he had to feel the pain of loathing himself first. And he’s_ still _learning_ , Wooyoung thinks.

“Love isn’t perfect,” Hongjoong continues. “As long as love exists, so does pain and heartache. But _god,_ Wooyoung, love is such a beautiful thing if you allow it to be.”

He speaks with such wonder in his tone, and his eyes float up to the ceiling.

“You say that as if you’ve been in love before,” Wooyoung comments.

Hongjoong’s mouth spreads like wings. “Maybe I have been.”

“What was it like?”

“It was… excruciating. Every day, I wanted to tell him that I loved him.”

_Him._

“But he was a free spirit. He wanted to live life his way, and his life was so, so promising. He had a normal sleep schedule and he knew what he was going to do once he stopped working at the record shop. I didn’t want to hold him back. There was… one night, where we may have fooled around, while I was staying at his place to avoid my family. To him, it might’ve meant nothing, but to me, it meant everything.”

“Hyung…”

“It was my decision to keep my feelings from him. It… it still is.”

“You’re still… you’re still in love with him?”

Hongjoong gives him a sad, twenty percent smile. “Have been for years, Wooyoungie. It’s gotten better, definitely, as it’s less painful to deal with. My love for him hasn’t died. I don’t think love really ever does.”

It’s nighttime on the cruise. Seagulls are mostly asleep, and the ocean sings her soft love songs for those on board. The ones who are standing behind Wooyoung, watching, waiting for him to do something. He gazes up at the sky, _starless_ , and awaits a meteor.

It doesn’t come.

“You can fall out of love, but that doesn’t mean that the love dies. Love is something that sticks with you for so, so long, Wooyoung-ah. As painful as it may be at times, that doesn’t mean it’s always going to be that way.”

When he turns around, San is at the front of the crowd with a seventy-three percent smile and a glimmering teardrop beneath his left eye that sparkles just like the stars would.

“Falling in love isn’t anybody’s _fault._ There’s no blame when it comes to love. It just _happens_ , sometimes with no rhyme or reason, and that’s okay. San blames himself for falling in love with you, but I told him the exact same thing. It just happens. I mean, I fell in love with someone I knew wouldn’t love me back, and… well, he’s still in my life.”

Hongjoong gazes at the artwork on his monitor with a dreamlike smile.

“People experience pain and love in different ways. For San, he needs to be away from you because he’s afraid that he’ll fall for you over and over again while you continue to break his heart. In my case, I’m fine with the heartbreak. I’ve seen my love come and go with plenty of faces, but I’ve never stopped loving him. Would it better if I did? Well, I can’t answer that. Love is indefinite. Things change. One day, if I decide to move on from him, I will, even if it’ll hurt to do so. But for now, I’m content with seeing his face every day and seeing him happy.”

Wooyoung connects the dots. His eyes almost bug out of his head.

“Wait, hyung, you…”

Hongjoong chuckles.

“I promise you, Wooyoung-ah, it sounds worse than it actually is. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Truly. But if there’s anything to learn from this, it’s that love exists. It’s out there. It’s different for everyone. It hurts, inevitably so, but it comes with so many _good_ things. You just have to let yourself see the good that comes with love.”

San steps forward. He’s wearing black, like he did at the party.

 _“Well, what are you waiting for?”_ he asks with a smirk.

 _”I don’t… I don’t know,_ ” Wooyoung responds, glancing down at the black ocean that’s reflecting the purple moonlight.

San sighs and shrugs off his jacket, leaving it in a pile on the deck. With a determined face, he steps up to the plank.

 _“W-wait, San!”_ Wooyoung calls out, attempting to reach his hand out, but the devils pin his limbs to the air. _“Don’t… don’t do it! Don’t jump!”_

San turns to him with a one hundred percent smile.

_“It’s okay, Wooyoungie. I put myself in this position, after all. Whenever… or, if you’re ever ready, meet me at the bottom, okay?”_

Wooyoung watches him jump, fall, plunge into the ocean, and wonders if he can breathe down there and what the waves feel like against his skin.

✲

It’s early November, while Wooyoung is sketching an outline for his drawing class, when the door creaks open and in the doorway stands a very unfamiliar figure.

Well, definitely not unfamiliar. But it’s been so goddamn long since Wooyoung has seen it.

“Hey,” Yunho says with a soft knock on the doorframe.

“Hey.” Wooyoung watches his roommate step inside and lean against the small fraction of a wall right next to the door.

“Whatcha doing?” Yunho asks, eyes landing on the sketchbook.

“Drawing.”

“Oh. Cool. Yeah, I, uh, heard you finally declared a major. Congrats, man. Proud of you.”

“Thanks.”

Yunho sucks in his bottom lip and releases it, making some sort of clicking sound. His eyes wander the room, not knowing where to land. “So… look, Wooyoung, I’m sorry that I’ve been avoiding you for so long.”

Wooyoung just shrugs. “It’s fine. I get it.”

“It’s just… I was angry. I still am. But I’m not here to yell at you or tell you that you fucked up in a hostile tone because I know you don’t need or want that right now. While you did fuck up, I just… I want to know something.”

Wooyoung sets his pencil down and turns his chair. “What do you want to know?”

Yunho crosses his arms, face set somewhere between confusion and frustration. “It’s just… I noticed something, Woo. It’s like… you didn’t hook up with _anybody_ while you were still ‘friends’ with San. You stopped partying, stopped having sex with strangers… and then after he confessed to you, _that’s_ when you started again?”

Yunho takes a deep breath, revs the engine, and continues. “It’s safe to say you gave him false hope. You led him on, made him believe he was special, like he was the only one who mattered, and as soon as he confessed, it’s like all of that time went down the drain. Just… why did you do that? Why, after several months of not partying or hooking up, did you start again after San confessed to you?”

Wooyoung glances at his sketch. Umbrellas that spew spiderwebs. Somewhere, he’s caught in between the rungs of them, sticky, stringy web strung across his mouth that’s preventing him from answering the question.

There’s also one on his brain, encasing it in some sort of spider cocoon, that’s stopping him from even _thinking_ of an answer.

So he pulls out the only file within one arm’s reach and says, “I don’t know.”

Yunho’s lips press together in a thin line, negative nine. “And with _Yeosang_ of all people, man. Didn’t see that one coming.”

“Neither did I,” Wooyoung mutters.

“Look. I just want to understand. You and San acted like a couple for so fucking long that everyone and their mothers were waiting for you two to be official. But as soon as the feelings came out, it’s like you completely forgot about everything you and San—”

“I didn’t _forget_ , Yunho-yah,” Wooyoung protests, lungs filling with water. He laughs. “There’s no fucking way I can forget.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“I told you, I _don’t know._ It was impulsive and I thought it was okay because San and I weren’t together. It didn’t mean anything—”

“Maybe not to you, but it hurt San. A lot. And while you and San may have not been a thing so it technically wasn’t cheating, it was still a weird and kind of shitty thing to do all of a sudden.”

Wooyoung winces, picking up his pencil again and squeezing it. He imagines it snapping like a twig.

So easy to break.

“We should’ve just stayed strangers,” Wooyoung says lowly. “It would’ve been so much easier. Why do you think I don’t do feelings, Yunho-yah? Why do you think I stay away from relationships and love and all that shit?”

Yunho gives him an “I don’t know, fuckface” expression and a shrug.

Wooyoung sighs and lets the pencil spin on his hand. One night, he’d been that pencil, and San had been the one holding him.

“I’ve seen way too much heartache in my life. You know that.” Wooyoung’s eyes are so tired. They’re barely open when he says, “It’s so easy to stay strangers. Because staying strangers is the easiest way to leave someone without the pain and heartache.”

If his parents had stayed strangers, he wouldn’t have been born, and none of this would be happening right now.

“I know that what I did was shitty, but I don’t know the answer to your question. I don’t know _why_ I did that only after San confessed. I know that it was shitty of me to do. I _know_.”

He leans forward, elbows just above his thighs, and digs his palms into his eyes.

“I just… I didn’t want this to happen. I didn’t _think_ any of this would happen, because who the hell would fall in love with me?”

His fingers find their way up into his hair, and there is suddenly a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m _trying_ , Yunho-yah. I’m trying to put some kind of faith in myself because I’m sick of feeling like people can’t love me. Even saying the _word_ makes me feel like there are snakes in my stomach. I didn’t want to hurt San. I know he doesn’t deserve that, and I know I never deserved him in the first place. I know, but there’s a wall in my brain and I don’t know how to break it.”

“Your mother seriously told you you’re unlovable?”

Wooyoung scoffs. “Yes and no. She told me that I’m not unlovable, but that people who tell me they love me are lying. So… she basically contradicted herself there. I don’t know what’s true, what to believe… I just. Don’t know.”

Yunho sighs and rubs Wooyoung’s shoulder in a not-so-comforting way, but at least he’s trying. He’s trying, just like Wooyoung is trying. It’s all they can do, really.

Yunho is among the crowd, his body intact, standing next to Mingi with his arm around him. He has a fifty percent smile just like everyone else. _“Do it, Wooyoung-ah_ ,” he says. _”You’ll feel a lot better if you do.”_

Wooyoung turns back around, the ocean appearing as if it’s on a constant zoom out. San is down there, sinking to the bottom, _alone._ He must be so scared, Wooyoung thinks. Being submerged in water the color of his hair, freezing cold or scalding hot. _Alone._

 _“Have more faith in yourself, Wooyoung,”_ the ocean whispers to him.

✲

_San and I were never together, so it technically wasn’t cheating. Yet everyone and everything around me is telling me it was wrong._

_I know it was shitty. But… I’m having a hard time figuring out why exactly it was wrong._

_Yunho did bring up a good point, though. That I went the longest time without doing anything remotely partylike when San and I were hanging out. And there was that one party, the last one I went to before this most recent one, where San and I actually left because I just wasn’t enjoying myself._

_I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to push past that blockade in my head but I just can’t. I don’t know why I wasn’t partying when San and I were hanging out. I don’t know why I decided to go to a party and hook up with Yeosang only after San confessed. I don’t know why I can’t seem to figure out why what I did was wrong._

_Yeah, San is in love with me. Yeah, knowing that the person you love is hooking up with other people hurts (I imagine, I wouldn’t know, though). I… I know it hurt San. Is that why it was wrong?_

_Did I know it would hurt San? Not in the moment, because all I could think about was Yeosang. We were never together. We were friends. I’m not bound to him in any way. I should be able to do whatever I want because I’m not committed to him. As much as it hurt San, it wasn’t_ wrong.

_…_

_I don’t know anymore. I hurt San. All the while, I was afraid_ I _was going to get hurt._

_But San… San is incapable of hurting people._

_I hurt San. I hurt San, and I can’t deny that. But I didn’t mean to. I thought… I thought it was going to be okay. I was just being me, doing what mister slutty dickhead Jung Wooyoung does best…_

_…_

_I don’t want to be him anymore._

✲

Wooyoung is on his back again, in such a familiar position, outlining doodles on his ceiling. He feels like it’s been so long since he’s done this. With the sketchbook and canvas as his new platforms, there’s less need for the ceiling, but it gives him some sense of nostalgia like this, imagining black lines trailing after his finger, painting the grooves.

He’s so lost in the ocean of his own absence of thought that he doesn’t hear Yunho knocking on his doorframe.

“Hey. Wooyoung, you awake?” Wooyoung hums a response. “Come on, let’s go out. I’m taking you to dinner.”

Wooyoung turns his head thirty degrees and raises a brow at his roommate. “Uh… why?”

“It’s your birthday, dummy.” Yunho raises his phone to show his Snapchat feed. “I wasn’t able to hang out with you last year because you were with San.”

“I was?”

“Yeah. Not to mention I wasn’t paying attention to Snapchat that day, so I didn’t know it was your birthday. Why have you never told me your birthday?”

Wooyoung shrugs. “It’s not important.”

Yunho scoffs and steps into the room, next to his bed, and hauls Wooyoung up by his arm despite his body’s protests. “Come on, we’re going out. I will change you if I have to.”

“I can dress myself, thank you very much.” Wooyoung swats Yunho’s hand off him and trudges to his closet.

“I’m giving you two minutes,” Yunho says before walking out.

Wooyoung sets a timer on his phone.

It takes him a minute and thirteen seconds.

✲

Yunho takes Wooyoung to the restaurant they’d gone to when Wooyoung had first met Yeosang, except Yeosang isn’t here. In fact, Wooyoung is pretty sure this is the first time he and Yunho have gone here alone, without Mingi or Yeosang or San.

It’s refreshing, in a way.

It’s a tiny bit awkward, since Wooyoung is pretty sure Yunho is still kind of pissed at him and probably always will be. But Yunho tells him to order whatever his heart desires because it’s his special day, and that’s when he’s reminded.

He’d already celebrated his birthday with San’s arms around him, hooked under his thighs, with stolen kisses and touches that made his skin erupt.

San hadn’t promised, but Wooyoung remembers he said they’d celebrate his birthday together.

“Wooyoung.” Yunho’s voice pulls him back to reality. “I know it’s been rough for you. How… how are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” Wooyoung answers. “I don’t know. I’m not really feeling much of anything.”

“I mean… I don’t know if that’s good or not.”

“Me neither.”

Yunho chuckles and sips his beer. “What about you and Mingi? Are you two together now?” Wooyoung asks.

“No,” Yunho says.

“Really?”

“It’s… a little complicated. There’s definitely something between us, and I totally would ask him to be my boyfriend, but I just don’t think it’s the right time.”

“Why not? I mean, you could always go super romantic and cheesy and ask him to kiss you under the mistletoe on Christmas and confess your undying love for him there.”

Yunho laughs, his bright cheeks ascending and eyes lighting up. “Tempting. But… I don’t know. I just want to be sure of my feelings and his feelings before we go any further, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, it does.”

Yunho’s arm tightens around Mingi, and Mingi leans into his shoulder.

 _“We’re certain, so why aren’t you?”_ Mingi asks him.

Wooyoung frowns at his food.

“Are you still mad at me?” he mumbles, promptly stuffing his face after he gets the question out.

“Maybe a little. But I’m less mad about how you hurt San and more mad about you not thinking that you’re lovable.”

Wooyoung looks up, cheeks inflated. “It’s frustrating, seeing you beat yourself up so much. You don’t realize how much you’re worth, Wooyoung-ah,” Yunho says.

Wooyoung swallows, clearing his throat with a sip of water. “I’m not mad at _you_ , per se. I just wish you could see what San and me and everyone else sees in you. Believe me, Woo, you… you’re one of my best friends, and I love you in the most platonic way.”

“I… uh, love you too,” Wooyoung declares awkwardly, eyes falling away.

Yunho chuckles. “Definitely not trying to be overly sentimental or anything like that. But really, Wooyoung. If I’m being honest… you make me feel like I’m not just my money, you know? I had a lot of friends back home, but they never felt _genuine._ In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re the first person to secretly feel spite towards me because I come from money.”

Wooyoung snorts a laugh. “I mean. You’re a generous guy, Yunho-yah. But that’s not all you are.”

“See, _that’s_ what I mean, Woo. You don’t just see me as an open bank account. You see me as a _person._ And I’m really, really grateful for that. I’m grateful to have you in my life.”

“Thought you said you weren’t trying to be overly sentimental,” Wooyoung quips with a smirk.

Yunho shrugs. “It’s your birthday. Consider my true feelings part of your gift.”

Wooyoung chuckles, as does Yunho.

 _“We’ll be waiting for you when you get back!”_ Yunho shouts, even though Wooyoung hasn’t budged an inch.

How can Wooyoung return from the depths? When all that’s down there is the unknown, the dark, the ruthless abyss and the inevitable pain upon impact, Wooyoung can’t imagine himself returning. But Yunho is smiling so radiantly, reassuringly, that Wooyoung feels like _maybe_ he could spring up from the bottomless dark in some sort of forceful gush of water. Like a sea monster emerging. Like a flying fish leaping up from below.

 _“Whenever you’re ready,”_ Mingi adds with his half crooked smile.

A gentle breeze ruffles Wooyoung’s hair, almost like his mother used to.

✲

“What are your parents like?” Wooyoung asks on the way back to their apartment.

“They’re pretty laid back. Real chill.”

They’ve stopped at a red light that seems like it’ll be red forever. In Yunho’s fancy car, with a top that _doesn’t_ roll down. Even though Yunho’s had this car for as long as Wooyoung has known him, it’s as if it’s never lost its gloss.

“They spoil me too much,” Yunho says with a laugh. “I used to love it as a kid, but as I grew up, I just wanted to branch away. I wanted to _work_ for money, not have it handed to me.”

“Huh. You’re weird,” Wooyoung replies with an equal laugh.

Yunho just shrugs. “I want to experience life for what it is. My parents worked for their money, and so should I. As generous as they are to share their fortune with me, I want to work and be able to do the same for others.”

Wooyoung smiles and rests his elbow near the window, and he’s staring up at a single lamppost with a golden light when his phone goes off.

**[genius joong]**

_happy birthday, wooyoungie!_

**[promiscuous imbecile]**

_oh, thank you hyung_

_how’d you know it was my birthday?_

**[genius joong]**

_a little birdy told me_

Wooyoung can’t help the gasp that leaves his lips.

“What?” Yunho questions.

**[genius joong]**

_he’s flying right above your head, watching over you. i’m pretty sure he always will be._

_i hope the sky looks beautiful from wherever you are, wooyoungie._

Wooyoung looks up. Surrounding the lamp’s dull light is a sky full of endless stars that reflect against the black, bottomless ocean that almost seems to mitigate the intensity of its darkness.

“There are so many stars,” Wooyoung says, feeling as if there is water in his lungs once again.

Yunho chuckles. “Yeah. I guess there are.”

The light turns green, and the engine revs and the waters stir.

✲

**[promiscuous imbecile]**

_thank you for remembering my birthday_

_i didn’t think you would. hell, even i forgot it_

_im sorry things didn’t…_

_im s_

_im sorry._

_im sorry for hurting you. i didn’t want to._

_i know that what i did was shitty and i regret it, i really do._

_i shouldn’t even be typing this because i know that i’ll only hurt you if i do_

_i respect your decision to stay away from me. so im going to just hit the backspace key a bunch of times and not send these because i don’t want to bother you._

_but i miss you. i really, really do._

_hongjoong-hyung said you’re still watching over me (it sounds like you’re dead even though i know you aren’t but that’s literally what he said)._

_i hope that you fall out of love with me so i can see you again._

_fuck that just sounds wrong and selfish im sorry._

_im trying, sannie. i really am._

_i hope that you’re doing well because you deserve nothing less._

_im sorry. i just miss you._

✲

The painting professor paces the front of the room, hands clasped behind his back, almost in a menacing manner. His students await some sort of commentary, maybe a scolding.

“’Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all,” he says, unprompted.

Wooyoung notices his peers glancing left and right.

“A quote from a British poet from the 1800s. Alfred Tennyson. I’m assuming you’ve never heard of him.” A few students nod. “Well, I just happened to stumble across that quote the other day, and it gave me inspiration for your final project.”

The class instantly bursts into whispers. “Now, now. It’s quite a simple task. I’m asking you to create something that showcases everything I’ve taught you up until now, while answering a question that is significant to you. A question as simple as, ‘What am I going to have for dinner?’ or an age-old question such as, ‘What is love?’ or ‘What is the meaning of life?’ As long as the question holds significance to _you_. Paint something that, in one or multiple ways, answers that question, and type up a minimum of three pages explaining your question and the answer to it.”

Wooyoung raises his hand.

“Yes, Wooyoung-ssi?”

“Can it be the answer to multiple questions?”

The professor purses his lips and taps his chin in thought (what a dramatic fellow, maybe he’s a theater professor too). “I suppose so. But it must be _one_ painting.”

Wooyoung nods and sits back in his chair.

“You will have now until the end of the semester to finish your project. That’s about three weeks. I will give you in-class time to work on it. For the rest of this class, feel free to experiment with sketches and outlines. Now, get to work, please!”

Wooyoung reaches down into his backpack to pull out his sketchbook when he feels a tap on his shoulder.

“Wooyoung-ssi,” his professor whispers. “You must have a lot of questions.”

“Not really, sir—”

“No, I mean for this project. You must have a lot of questions you want to ask and answer for your piece.”

Wooyoung glances down at his sketchbook, home to all sorts of fantastical drawings that all of his art teachers have seen at one point.

“You have a lot on your mind, I can tell. Whatever questions you need to ask, whatever answers you come up with, feel free to include in your project. I’m interested to see what you come up with.”

Wooyoung nods, and the professor walks away with a twenty-six percent smirk. He’s been approached by his art professors and even fellow students, and they all have the same thing to say.

_“Seems like you’ve got a lot going on up there.”_

Which is true, he surmises. Not everyone draws shark therapists or people trapped in hourglasses or carnivorous plants with a cat’s body. But maybe that means something. Maybe it’s his “calling,” whatever that means.

After all, nobody would approach him like that when all he was doing was floating.

✲

_Who am I at this point in time?:_

_-I still don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever know._

_What do I want to be?:_

_-Someone to be proud of. Someone who believes that they are loved. Someone who has the ability to love without the word tasting like the sourest lemon and its bitterest rind. Someone who can swallow coffee at its hottest or coldest, at the unbearable bitterness or the overwhelming sweetness. Someone who can handle whatever is thrown their way without shutting off._

_What did I used to be?:_

_-Someone who did what they did with little regret. Now, it’s as if it’s all coming back to me, and I regret so, so much._

✲

It’s raining. It’s downpouring, actually, to the point where Wooyoung thinks that not even a thousand umbrellas could withstand the relentless torrent.

He’s drawing some in his sketchbook when his phone illuminates with his aunt’s contact name.

“Hello?”

“Wooyoung-ah.”

Something twists in Wooyoung’s chest at the sound of his aunt’s tone. There’s an incline, and a decline. It’s shaking.

“Listen to me, Wooyoung-ah. I don’t know any other way to say this.”

Wooyoung stands up, pushing his chair and sending it flying behind him. “What? Imo, what’s going on? Is Kyungmin okay?”

“He’s fine. It’s… it’s your mother, Wooyoung. She… she overdosed.”

That something wraps its body around his heart and squeezes. Constricting his blood flow, he freezes in place, fingers tightening around his phone.

“I-I went to go check on her and found her just in time, but she’s in critical condition. I’m w-with Kyungmin at the hospital right now, and as far as he knows, she just got really sick. But she really attempted to take her own life, Wooyoung-ah. Please, I know that you don’t have the strongest relationship with her, but _please_.”

Wooyoung is already bursting out of his bedroom and storming the hall, his footsteps as loud as the thunder ravaging the outside world.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!” he shouts. “Eomma, why are you so fucking _stupid_?” His voice breaks at the peak. “Imo, it’ll take me two hours to get there, and it’s pouring where I am. B-but I’m on my way, okay? J-just wait for me.”

“Thank you so much, Wooyoung-ah. I love you.”

Wooyoung doesn’t even get the chance to say it back before his aunt hangs up.

“Fucking shit,” he mutters to himself, head whipping around in every direction in search of Yunho’s keys. They’re beside the coffee maker.

“-ah! Wooyoung-ah!”

There is a strong, almost painful grip on his shoulders.

“Get off of me!” Wooyoung screeches, pushing whatever has latched onto him.

“Dude, what the hell? What do you think you’re doing?” Yunho asks, a wildly confused expression on his face.

“I need to go,” Wooyoung croaks, clutching Yunho’s keys so hard that they might be leaving imprints.

“You’re not going anywhere with my car, especially not in this weather! Where the hell do you need to go anyway?”

“Just… fucking hell, Yunho, I need to go! I don’t have time!”

“Just tell me where you need to go, okay? I’ll drive you there. You can’t drive all hysterical like this. Where do you need to go?”

“The hospital, back in Ilsan. My… fuck, Yunho, please just take me there if you won’t let me go alone.”

Yunho snatches the keys from Wooyoung’s clutch and grabs his hand. Slipping on their shoes, Yunho asks, “Wooyoung, what the hell happened?”

Wooyoung is already out the door before he can give a full answer.

✲

The rain is taunting him, he’s pretty sure. He bounces his knee to the rhythm of it pounding against the windows.

“Wooyoung-ah,” Yunho says, cutting through the pitter patter. “What happened?”

There is acid rain in his throat as he says, “She tried to kill herself.”

“Oh, fuck... Wooyoung, I’m so sorry.”

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything, as if the snakes have slithered from his brain to his throat.

The light above them turns green. There is no soundtrack to a coming of age movie playing in the background. There are no kisses, no screams about how fucking stupid they all are, and as the rain continues to fall, Wooyoung stays dry beneath a top that doesn’t roll down.

This is the reality.

When Yunho drives through a tunnel, it is not magical. It is not a scene worth remembering.

They drive in silence.

✲

The soles of Wooyoung’s shoes are practically separated. Water is soaking into his socks as he darts past the automatic sliding doors with Yunho trailing behind him.

In the waiting area is his aunt.

“Where’s Kyungmin?” is the first thing Wooyoung says.

“He’s with my neighbor at the moment. He’s asleep, last time I talked to her.”

“What happened? She’s alive, right?”

His aunt nods. “She’s alive, but… there was a lot of damage. They pumped her stomach and did what they could to get the toxins out, but she…” She closes her eyes in a wince.

Wooyoung lets out a sigh, though his chest continues to heave magnitudes. “C-can I see her? Are they allowing it?”

His aunt nods, though her eyebrows crease in worry. She takes Wooyoung’s hands and swallows. “Wooyoung-ah, I’m going to tell you right now, it’s not pretty. She’s practically comatose. Has a tube down her throat and everything.”

Wooyoung grimaces. “Can… can Yunho come with me? O-only if you don’t mind, Yunho.”

Yunho nods. “It’s okay, I’ll go in if they allow it.”

His aunt nods as well. “Okay.”

At the hospital’s approval, Wooyoung is guided down what feels like an endless hall of white to a dark room on his left, illuminated by a single soft light on a table beside his mother’s bed.

The sight is gruesome.

More gruesome than the venomous stares. There are no stares at all, not when she’s like this—unconscious, eyes closed but not with sleep. A needle through her arm that connects her to nutrients her body can't produce, her lips parted to accommodate the tube shoved past it, down her throat, keeping her alive.

From coffee, to water, to alcohol, to oxygen.

A monitor beeps with what may or may not be irregular heartbeats. Green, red, black lights. Hissing. Breathing, but barely.

“Oh, _god,_ eomma…”

Wooyoung collapses to his knees beside her bed. “Fuck… why? Why did you do this?” he asks, taking her hand. It’s lost its warmth.

It’s not the hand that used to cup his face while he was told that people won’t love him.

“Why? You abandoned us once, and you were going to abandon us for good? _Why_?”

He squeezes her hand tighter, but is met with no response. He releases some of the tension, as her brittle fingers may very well break under his anger.

It had always been nighttime, or the earliest hours in the morning. Deep, sunken bags under her eyes, restless yet so, so tired. And Wooyoung had never seen her sleep.

With his mother’s limp, almost lifeless hand in his, he lowers his forehead to it and sobs.

“I’m sorry, eomma. I’m s-so sorry. I couldn’t… I couldn’t be there for you, not when… not when you said you loved me when you didn’t mean it.”

Bile rises in his throat. He forces it back down, wincing, whimpering at the burn. “You said it yourself, right? That you loved me, imo loves me, Kyungmin loves me… but that was a lie too, wasn’t it? You might’ve loved us. But eomma… what you taught me wasn’t love. None of it came from a place of love; it came from a place of spite for your shitbag of an ex-husband.”

He gasps, finding it hard to breathe, and he wonders if the tube in his mother’s throat would be of any help to him in this moment.

“Imo loves me. Kyungmin loves me. I believe that. But you and… _him._ How could you call that love?”

 _“Don’t you_ dare _think about falling in love.”_

Wooyoung turns around again, for the nth time. The crowd is still waiting patiently for him to take his final steps.

He closes his eyes.

“Eomma… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do what you told me to. I couldn’t do what I promised you.”

His grip tightens on her hand again.

“I _love_ him, eomma. _I love him_. I fell in love. I’m sorry, okay? I’m _sorry._ I don’t want to be like you anymore. I don’t… I don’t want _this_.”

His mind and body betray him and all that he’s known, his mother and all that she’s known, in that very instance.

“I love him… I love him. I love him. I can’t… I can’t…”

There is a silent, bated breath from behind him.

“Wooyoung…” Yunho’s apprehensive voice comes from the entrance.

“I love him, okay?” Wooyoung turns around to face his roommate, who’s gaping at him with glassy eyes. “I love him, Yunho. I love him.”

Yunho steps into the room and kneels beside him, slipping an arm around his trembling shoulders. “I want to let _go_ , Yunho-yah,” Wooyoung sobs, allowing his stubborn head to fall, _finally._ It slumps against Yunho, the space between his neck and chest. “I want to love him. I want him to love me.”

“He does, Wooyoung,” Yunho says. “He loves you so much.”

An earthquake that shatters the Richter scale wracks Wooyoung’s body, though there’s that one part of him, the everlasting mountain, that remains standing.

The waters churn violently, a thousand whirlpools the shape of his umbrellas surmounting the waves.

 _“You can do it,”_ Yunho tells him.

Wooyoung glances down again. The ocean is seething, screaming, her voice filled with malice as she sends her waves crashing against the base of the cruise.

 _“You can do it, Wooyoung-ah!”_ a clash of voices calls out all at once.

“I love him,” Wooyoung whispers.

“I know, Wooyoung,” Yunho says, rocking him gently. “I know you do.”

✲

_I have failed as a mother._

_Wooyoung despises me. Kyungmin is following in his footsteps. My sister is keeping them away from me._

_All the while, I am here alone. As I am meant to be._

_I don't blame them._

_I am a complete, utter failure._

_I love my children dearly, but it seems as if they do not love me. I am unlovable, just like he said._

_My dear children, I am so, very sorry. I am sorry that I have been such a terrible mother. I won't have to be in your lives any longer. I was never there for you anyway._

_My life means nothing without them. So, I give up._

_Wooyoungie... I hope that you continue to succeed. Do what I couldn't. Raise a family of your own. Treat your children right. Love them unconditionally, with your whole heart. Don't do what I did._

_Goodbye._

✲

It’s snowing, but not the kind of snow that makes it hard to see. It’s a gentle snowfall, with fat flakes that stick to the ground and paint the campus white. They land in Wooyoung’s hair and on the ground beneath him. Some might even land on his eyelashes.

The cold isn’t unbearable. It nips innocuously at his nose and tickles his ears. But he’s content.

The rotting coriander smell has gone into hibernation, it seems. It smells like nothing.

Most of the students have sheltered themselves back under a roof that shields them from the snow, but Wooyoung is here, at the center of campus, gazing up at the snowfall that masks the stars.

His mother still hasn’t woken up, but her heart is still beating. According to his aunt, her fate rests outside of the doctors’ hands.

“You’re not required to love anybody, Wooyoung,” Yunho had told him. “You love who you want to love. If you feel like someone has done you wrong, has hurt you in irreparable ways… you don’t have to love them, even if they raised you.”

There are only two people like that.

Caught in between the rungs of the web of loving and not loving, Wooyoung sweeps the ground with his feet and traces an hourglass.

_He doesn’t have to love me back. Not after how I hurt him._

His professors had given him extensions on all his assignments upon receiving the news, but he doesn’t think he needs them.

“Excuse me,” a voice says, “you look a bit lonely standing there by yourself. Is it okay if I join you?”

And as heart-wrenching as it is, Wooyoung can’t help but smile. He turns around, expecting to see the one person he’s ever loved glaring at him venomously, outraged, but that’s far from the truth.

His head takes a little bit to catch up, but then there’s the crunching of snowy footsteps against white pavement.

And there _he_ is, with his treasure map neck and smile warm enough to melt the ice Wooyoung has casted around his heart. There is no purple gem underneath his left eye, but he is so, so familiar, and still just as beautiful.

“Sure,” Wooyoung says, but he is already beside him.

✲

It’s daytime. Wooyoung is still on the plank.

The water screamed all night, thrashing and twisting until her muscles were sore and her voice was raw. She now rests, a cerulean blue instead of a pitch black.

 _“Are you gonna go?”_ Hongjoong asks. His records have long ceased.

His friends are the only ones alive after the storm. The crowd has disappeared. Where, Wooyoung doesn’t know.

 _“He’s waiting for you down there,”_ Yeosang says. _“He’s been waiting for a long time.”_

 _“It’s okay if you don’t go,”_ Yunho pitches in. _“You’re not obligated to love anybody.”_

 _“No, I… it’s okay,”_ Wooyoung says. He turns around to face his friends, his heels right at the edge of the plank. _“I want to let go.”_

 _“Then let go. We’ll always be here,”_ Hongjoong says with a one hundred percent smile.

Wooyoung nods, taking one last breath before he allows his feet to slip. His shoes, having gone through ruthless treks and unspeakable journeys, slip off his feet as he descends.

Water wraps around his body, its warmth seeping into his skin as familiar hands grab onto his wrists and pull him in.

He can breathe.

 _“I’ve been waiting, Young-ah.”_ The tender voice almost seems to echo.

The water spins him around.

San is there, with his map and his warmth and his teardrop gemstone and a smile the size of a horizontal eight.

 _“What took you so long?”_ he asks, amused.

 _“I don’t know,”_ Wooyoung admits. _“But I think I know what I want now.”_

_“And what would that be?”_

San smirks as if he already knows the answer.

_“You, Sannie. I want you.”_

San nods and slips his fingers in between Wooyoung’s.

_“Then let’s go.”_

With everything Wooyoung lacks looming behind him, haunting him like the maybe-ghost and the sting of his mother’s words, he follows San into the light and the dark, the beauty and the pain, and the uncertainty of love.

✲

 _’Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mm.
> 
> on a lighter-ish note, this fic now has a playlist! thank you to everyone who made song suggestions, and feel free to continue giving them! you can listen to it [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0KKsOpveRhl2A9Fa6w5AxN?si=cPcijy05TBSmTbd3fX9VkA)
> 
> i also want to say thank you for reading this fic. this is the first fic i've written that i'm actually proud of. i hope you're liking it as much as i like writing it. heck, i even saw some people on twt change their display names to references to this fic, which i found pretty endearing. if you're reading this... i see u
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)


	10. a love that won't sit still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San is there to hold him when the boat rocks to the point where he’s seasick. San is there under every color sky to admire the stars or lack thereof with him. San is there to hold his hand when it cramps up and helps guide the pen back to where it belongs.
> 
> And Wooyoung likes to believe that he belongs next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of alcohol abuse and hospitals, but this chapter is pretty lighthearted :)
> 
> it's also shorter, but i hope you enjoy it!
> 
> brought to you by:
> 
> grow as we go - ben platt  
> the only exception - paramore  
> and of course, stray italian greyhound - vienna teng
> 
> listen to the spotify playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0KKsOpveRhl2A9Fa6w5AxN?si=6TFRNS7mStOPfTq5QgV8pA)

The air feels like the brightest flame and the most frigid wind in his lungs. Seeing San for the first time in two months feels like an entire winter has passed.

Looking at him, nothing has changed. He’s still San, still freckled and kind, still a black belt in taekwondo, _still in love._ And he’s still looking at Wooyoung the same way he did before the storm.

“I’m sorry to hear about your mother,” San says, now standing elbow-to-elbow with Wooyoung as the two gaze up at the snow and stars.

Wooyoung shrugs. “It’s… I mean, I wanna say it’s okay, but it’s not.”

“It’s good that you recognize that,” San says with a chuckle.

Wooyoung swallows an enormous lump and turns.

“San… look, I’m so, so sorry about what I did. I couldn’t say these things back then because… I was afraid. Of what, I don’t know, but I was. And it took me so long to admit to myself that I was. I still am.”

San turns to look at him with gentle eyes.

“It felt like sharks and vampire bats were biting my tongue off and I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to admit that I hurt you, or that what I did was wrong… I didn’t want to lose you, San. I really didn’t. But I fucked up, I was stupid and impulsive and _wrong_ , and I’m sorry. I just…”

Wooyoung shuts his eyes. He dreads it, fearing that San will disappear once he reopens them.

“This is so fucking cliché, but I didn’t realize what I had until I lost it. And fucking hell, San, losing you… made me feel nothing. And you know what I realized? I realized that you made me feel _everything._ Things I’d never felt before. I was _numb_ without you, and I hated it. I was back to the Wooyoung I was last year, when all I did was let things control me, a-and… I _hated_ what I became after losing you. I don’t… I don’t want to be him anymore.”

Wooyoung sniffles, smelling cotton candy instead of coriander. His bottom jaw is quivering. An ocean stirs in his brain.

The ship, the unsinkable S.S. Suffering, is nothing without its captain.

“Who do you want to be, then?” San asks him.

Wooyoung can’t help but crack a smile. _He’s missed this._

“Someone who knows their worth,” he murmurs. “Someone to be proud of. Someone who’s loved.”

When he opens his eyes, San has a smile of immeasurable capacity. “Young-ah, you’re already two out of three of those things.”

Wooyoung lets out a laugh, his breath floating away in a wisp of vapor. He imagines his eyes are lustrous with tears, a feeling he’s learn to become familiar with over the past few weeks.

“This is so fucking wrong,” Wooyoung says. “This is such a wrong time to tell you, but I _love_ you, San. I was always so fucking scared, unwilling to risk the pain of loving and being loved, that I… I just flat out refused to let myself feel that. But seeing my mother like that… made me realize how dead I felt without you. Seeing her attempt to take her own life because she lacked love, because she didn’t believe in it… it was _terrifying._ I didn’t want to be like that.”

San gives him a tiny nod. “I know I can’t take back what I did,” Wooyoung says, “and I’ll understand if you still need time away from me, but—”

A hand that’s warmed by the glow of the sun and the tenderness of love clasps his and squeezes.

“You say that as if I don’t love you anymore,” San says, slipping his fingers into those familiar spaces. “Young-ah, it’s been two months, but it’s felt like an eternity. I missed you so much.”

Wooyoung sniffles again, the waterworks stagnant at the border. His thumb grazes over San’s, _familiar._

“Yeah, I was hurt. But that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you in that instance. Like I said then, I am so goddamn in love with you that it felt like I wasn’t going to be able to see you again.” San chuckles and inches closer, just a smidge, but it’s enough to make Wooyoung’s heart leap. “If I’m being honest, I’m still… I’m still hurt. But I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“I didn’t,” Wooyoung says. “I swear I didn’t. I was just… really stupid and in denial and impulsive and fucked up and—”

“Wooyoung.” San speaks with a butterfly lightness to his tone, raising his hand to Wooyoung’s neck. _His own name has never sounded so beautiful._ “I forgive you.”

The waterworks overflow, burst past the border, and Wooyoung throws his arms around San, burying his face into his neck.

“I’m sorry. I’m _sorry. I love you,_ San. I love you so fucking much.”

San laughs, a skip in his throat. “I love you too, Wooyoung.”

When Wooyoung pulls away, San wipes the waterfall from his cheeks and smiles that same sunshine smile that Wooyoung fell in love with.

“I love you,” San says again.

 _“I’m in love.”_ San’s singsong voice echoes in Wooyoung’s brain.

San kisses him then, under the first snowfall, supple hands cupping his cheeks. As much as they have kissed before, none of their previous kisses could equate to this.

Where fireworks and butterflies scatter about Wooyoung’s stomach, spread to his bones and lungs, and leave him breathless when he pulls away, forehead to forehead with San. A thousand umbrellas spring open above their heads, shielding them from the snow, and somewhere, a song reminiscent of winter love rings.

✲

_Had it not been for them, I wouldn’t be doing this project. I wouldn’t even be in this class._

_Many moons ago, I was a turtle trapped in a shell of self-loathing without even realizing it because I was too busy ignoring the reality, being that doing nothing is the equivalent of dying. It sounds like an exaggeration, but hear me out._

_On a ship I had appropriately named the S.S. Suffering (previously the Cruise of Suffering, but I changed the name because it had a better ring to it), I was the captain. I wouldn’t even be in the captain’s quarters, however, because I was too busy outside contemplating whether or not I should jump. In that time, I did nothing but stand there while my friends partied it up onboard, enjoyed their lives and whatnot because that’s what they decided to do. I, on the other hand, decided to let the universe control me._

_I won’t delve into my less-than-ideal past because that’s not the point. Everyone’s had their struggles, and I am a mere fraction of that ‘everyone.’ My main point is this: because of them, I am here, I am painting this piece, and I am_ alive.

_I’m not dead in the Sahara Desert, nor is my corpse rotting in some dank cave after being devoured by vampire bats and maggots. I’m under a starry sky as a thousand umbrellas float above my head with a tub of cotton candy next to me. My therapist isn’t a shark waiting to suck me dry of money, nor is he my friend, because friends aren’t and shouldn’t be therapists. My gravestone does not exist, it does not read ‘Promiscuous Imbecile,’ and I am alive._

_Here’s the thing. In the end, I did jump that plank, but not in the way you might think. I’d actually jumped that plank before, but I did so unwillingly. Not because I had a gun to my head or anything like that, but it was still against my will._

_It’s not called the S.S. Suffering for nothing. And without its captain, the ship is bound to sink._

_I jumped because something better was waiting for me at the bottom. The ocean was vengeful. She hated me for standing there for so long, in a constant time loop, caught between jumping and not jumping. She was never sated. It’s as if she would reverse time when I’ve jumped before, get me back up on the ship because she wasn’t satisfied with my sacrifice. But this time around was the last time._

_After countless merciless storms, I was able to jump. I fell, and I fell hard, but the ocean welcomed me with open arms._

_I don’t know what happened to the ship. After being on it for so long, I guess you could say I lost interest in it. Wherever it is, whether it be still sailing the ocean blue or in ruins at the bottomless abyss, I don’t really care. Not when what I have is_ right now.

 _My friends are always going to be there, though. Through unforgiving storms, they were always there, and for the longest time, I took that for granted. I never saw what they saw in me, what they_ still _see in me, and if I’m being honest, I still don’t. I’m working on it, though._

_There were three questions that I was asked by a very special person._

_‘Who was I?’ ‘Who am I?’ ‘Who do I want to be?’_

_You draw building blocks. You draw jagged lines from point to point or a venn diagram or whatever makes you happy. You arrange the different points in your life, connect them, ask yourself those questions, do the math, and write yourself a rulebook of the things you learn. You learn who you become. And sometimes, you have to cross things out, tear out a few pages, scribble lines and gibberish and illegible handwriting. You will never have a perfect rulebook, but you can get pretty damn close to it._

_Whatever makes you happy in the end._

_I’m constantly rewriting mine. It’s not easy. Sometimes my gel pens run out of ink and my hand cramps up. Sometimes I’m uninspired. For the longest time, my rulebook was left untouched because I refused to open it; I was content with what I had… or so I thought._

_Then, this sudden burst of sunlight forced my rulebook open and started writing itself onto the pages. I had to face the music. I had to brandish my pen again. And it hurt. A lot. But pain is inevitable in all areas of life, as I’ve come to learn, and I’m trying to be okay with it._

_Sunshine hurts to look at, but it’s better than the wretched storms and self-loathing. It’s not always a harsh light that sets ants on fire through a magnifying glass. With the shade of a thousand umbrellas, it’s actually quite pleasant. And I’m trying to let myself feel that._

_I used to think that people would celebrate my death. That fireworks would go off while I drowned and died and my friends onboard the S.S. Suffering would continue to party and admire the beauty. But how would I be able to know that? I’m drowning. I’m dying. How could I know what their reactions would be?_

_As it turns out, my death was celebrated. It’s being celebrated right now. But I swear, I’m living in a constant loop, a seesaw hourglass, because I have to live and die countless times to perfect my rulebook. I’m trying._

_And I am not alone in my endeavors._

_I was so ready to drown and be done. I made myself at home inside an hourglass that I felt would break, half empty instead of half full. I didn’t believe in love or happiness or the pursuit of either._

_But someone came along and tore out so many pages of my rulebook. They sparked an infinite amount of inconvenient fireworks in my stomach and made me feel things I had never felt before. It was so unfamiliar that it was almost unbearably uncomfortable. I thought I would be okay if I just ignored everything, but they crossed out every single ‘no’ in my rulebook and changed them to ‘maybe.’_

_Because maybe I am loved. Maybe I do have the ability to love and be happy someday. Maybe I’ll be able to pull myself out of the quicksand and fly away like Mary Poppins. Maybe I’ll become something I want to be. Maybe I’ll find out what that something is. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll become someone I’m proud of._

_I’m trying._

_So here’s to the best thing humans can do: try._

_And I sincerely hope that you and everyone can do the same._

_Love,_

_Jung Wooyoung_

✲

Wooyoung is in the middle of stage two of the sleep cycle when he hears a thud, a click, and a “Wooyoung! Wake up!”

Wooyoung jolts awake, expecting Yunho to throw him out the window because there’s an intruder or something, and while he’s met with Yunho pouncing onto his bed, he’s also met with Yeosang, Jongho, San, and Mingi poking their heads through his bedroom door.

“What the _fuck_ , Yunho?” Wooyoung murmurs sleepily, eyes attempting to blink away the sting and crust.

“Come on, it’s Christmas in two weeks!”

“Y-yeah, _and_?”

Wooyoung doesn’t get another word out before he’s being hauled over Yunho’s shoulder, plaid pajamas and all. He’s still too disoriented to respond to the chaos, but the next thing he knows, he’s in the backseat, sprawled across San, Yeosang, and Jongho’s laps. It also happens to be fucking freezing. At least Yunho had the decency to put on his Eevee slippers for him.

San is in a leather jacket, purple gemstones poked through his ears instead of beneath his eye, smiling proudly at the outside while he holds his phone to his ear.

“Hongjoong-hyung! Could you play those upbeat songs that they play in every single coming of age movie? You know, the ones that play when the main character is driving down the highway with an open window and they realize that their struggles have all led up to this one moment of bliss and they feel really happy? Yeah, play a bunch of those! Love you, bye!”

Wooyoung pinches just beneath his right thumb. He doesn’t think he’s dreaming.

“San, what’s going on?” he asks.

San smiles at an infinity.

“We’re celebrating,” he says. What they’re celebrating, he doesn’t specify.

The song that starts their dazzling journey down the highway is a familiar one, with a few drum beats and a catchy guitar riff.

Wooyoung is finally awake, eyes stretched and ready. San grins at him and rolls down the window, letting the frigid air beat down on their faces. Clambering over his friends’ laps, he sticks his head out the window, ignoring the freezing rapids that threaten to squeeze his eyes shut for him, and he screams.

“ _I’m king of the wooooorld_!”

San is gripping his waist, holding him down as if he’d fall out the window. Through Yunho’s blaring speakers, a song of love plays that San sings along to.

“I’m in love,” he sings, an infinite smile, hand cupping Wooyoung’s cheek.

“I’m in love,” Wooyoung sings back, though he’s certain his voice is nowhere near as good as San’s.

“You two are so fucking cute,” Yeosang comments, patting Wooyoung’s back.

Wooyoung glances over the posh leather of the car interior to see his roommate holding Mingi’s hand over the gearshift. They’re not kissing, but it’s still something.

The tiniest bits of love are still love.

✲

“Hyung… I’m scared I’m going to hurt San again.”

“And how would that happen?”

“I don’t know. I just… I don’t want to hurt him again.”

“What did I tell you, Wooyoungie? With love comes pain. It’s not perfect. You love him, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I suggest you take things slow. Both of you are still healing, especially you. If you need time, San will give it to you. He’ll give so much for you.”

“I don’t need or want time. I… I just wish it were easy to love someone.”

“Wooyoungie, I don’t think anyone has ever said that love is easy and meant it.”

✲

It’s a lazy night under an artificial sky of blue and purple, bubbles joyfully dancing in their bloodstreams.

It’s not easy to love someone, but it sure as hell feels easy to love San.

Wooyoung is straddling his waist, admiring his bountiful mountain from above, hand in hand. He’s smiling—at what percent, he doesn’t know. But he’s so, so happy in the moment, because San is _here_. And when he thinks about it, San never left.

Staying strangers isn’t as easy as Wooyoung once thought. Now, he doesn’t want to let San go.

Because the earthquake San caused in his entire being left its mark, its permanent engravement, and Wooyoung no longer sees a one-night stand gone horribly right or a luckily unlucky encounter. He sees beauty tenfold, purple stars and brilliant fireworks. He sees someone he loves, _really_ loves.

His smile disappears for a split second, and San is quick to notice.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

Wooyoung’s tongue briefly pokes past his lips as he squeezes San’s fingers.

“I don’t want to hurt you again,” he murmurs.

“Oh, Young-ah. Come here.”

Wooyoung lowers himself down, inserting himself under San’s arm. “Listen to me, okay? Yes, I was hurt before, but I know me, I know myself. And if I’m hurt, I’ll take appropriate measures. But for right now, I want you to love me just as you do. If you are able to forget about that fear, even if just for a second, I’d want you to love me the same. Don’t love me as if you’re scared you’re going to lose me.”

Wooyoung lets out a deep breath, clutching the collar of San’s shirt. “I get what you mean. I’m just… I feel like I’ll always be scared.”

“I know you’ve lost a lot, Woo,” San says, placing his hand over Wooyoung’s. “I know you’re scared of losing again. But I’m here with you, right now. And I’ll always be here.”

San takes Wooyoung’s index finger and points it up at his blank slate of a ceiling. “Sign your name and I’ll sign mine,” he says.

Wooyoung chuckles and does as he’s told. San’s grip is featherlight on his hand as he scribbles some form of an invisible signature, and San does the same. “There you go, Jung Wooyoung,” San says. “You have officially signed your name on my ceiling. There’s no going back for you now.”

Wooyoung bursts out laughing then and rolls on top of San, taking his wrists and pinning them down beside his head. “You’re so weird,” Wooyoung says.

San raises a brow at him. “That’s real bold coming from you.”

“Touché.”

San shares his laughter, breaking free of Wooyoung’s weak hold on his wrists and pulling him down by the collar of his shirt to kiss him. Wooyoung melts into it, as he’s done many times before, but it’s different now, and it will be from now on.

Because he loves San. He loves San and can say it and mean it. He can kiss San like he loves him, touch San like he loves him.

He’s terrified. He’s scared to lose San because he knows mistakes run through his blood. He’s trying to be okay with that, but that doesn’t make him any less afraid.

_Love isn’t perfect. Pain is inevitable._

_But god, love is so beautiful if you allow it to be._

So Wooyoung will try.

He will try to replace the mistakes with the present, being that he _loves_ San and doesn’t _want_ to hurt him. But dwell on the past he mustn’t if he wants to keep San in his life, because as the saying goes, “history repeats itself.”

Wooyoung kisses the marks on San’s neck, each and every point that spells out a fragment of what San is. The map to the treasure, _his_ treasure, being that enormous mountain that he’s only ever admired from afar without even realizing it. He’s here now, having made his mark, and San holds him close and gasps near his ear as he sucks a deep bruise into his speckled neck.

“ _God_ , Wooyoung, I love you.”

Hearing him say it in such a moment nearly knocks the oxygen out of Wooyoung’s body.

San flips them over, his lips heavy yet plush on his as he slides his hands under Wooyoung’s shirt. “My baby…” he whispers against Wooyoung’s neck before swiping his tongue along the skin, earning a sharp inhale from the man below.

“Oh, _fuck_ , Sannie… want you to…”

San chuckles, breath tickling Wooyoung’s skin as his hands further ascend Wooyoung’s torso to tweak his nipples under the obstructing clothing.

Several swift movements later, they’re bare again, after months that felt like an eternity. Even though it’s been so long, Wooyoung still remembers San’s body as it was.

Strong, sturdy. Defined abs and battle scars that should have never existed, but they do. Wooyoung doesn’t love them like he loves the rest of San, but they’re there. He acknowledges them. And he loves San just the same.

And San loves him, in all of his flaws and fucked up-ness and vivid imagination.

San goes slow despite all the time they’ve lost, and it makes Wooyoung realize that maybe San loved him during those times of languidness. The nights where San kissed him so slowly it made him shiver, took his precious time because it made Wooyoung come harder… perhaps San loved him even then, but Wooyoung doesn’t ask.

He simply lets San kiss him _now_ , because he knows San loves him _now_.

When San slides inside him again, it feels nothing and everything like the first time.

At that time, sweat washed away the glitter on Wooyoung’s collarbones and he was ready to come and be done with. San stood tall and firm, told Wooyoung that _maybe he isn’t ready_ , and when Wooyoung thinks about it, he wasn’t. He wasn’t prepared at all.

Now, he is.

Well, maybe he isn’t ready for all of it, but he’s ready for some.

San had kissed him so passionately then, even though it was stranger to stranger, because that’s just San. San, who has way too much love and passion in him. San, who traversed Wooyoung’s entire body more than anyone else has. San, who loves him despite everything, the good and the bad.

That same stranger who cared and smiled and stole his heart.

“I love you,” Wooyoung whispers with a half chuckle, holding San’s face in his hands as San pushes further, burying himself deep.

“And I love you,” San says, kissing Wooyoung’s forehead gingerly.

San fucks him just like the first time too, with his legs perched on his shoulders, testing Wooyoung’s flexibility once more. Wooyoung loves every minute of it, each jab to his prostate like a million fireworks that send him further into pleasure and closer to climax. He looks at San, his treasure, and thanks the stars and the sharks in the ocean that San didn’t become a stranger.

Had San walked out of his life completely, Wooyoung doesn’t know where he’d be. He wouldn’t know what he is or wants to be because his rulebook would remain closed.

San holds both the lock and key now. And Wooyoung trusts him with his entire heart.

Drenched in sweat and other fluids, they lie together in an entanglement of limbs when an alarm on San’s phone goes off.

“What was that for?” Wooyoung asks.

“I figured you’d forget what day it is,” San says.

“Oh, shit. What day is it? Don’t tell me it’s my birthday, I swear that was last month.”

“It was,” San says, laughing. “It’s midnight.”

“Oh.”

San leans in and pecks his nose.

“Happy new year, my love. I’m so glad you’re alive.”

✲

**[the gay]**

_wooyoungie, got some bad news_

**[???]**

_uh oh, did jongho lose all of his arm wrestling money?_

_did he get caught dealing his special gummy bears?_

**[the gay]**

_even worse than that_

_ur fish is dead_

_sorry_

**[???]**

_LOL_

_I WAS WONDERING WHEN THAT FUCKER WAS GOING TO DIE_

**[the gay]**

_im sorry man, it was just his time_

_i did everything as usual, i swear i didn’t commit fish murder_

**[???]**

_lol it’s okay_

_i promise it’s ok_

**[the gay]**

_i can get you another one if you’d like!!!_

**[???]**

_im good. maybe if u decide to get a reptilian creature of sorts you could name that one after me_

_imagine a chameleon named wooyoung_

_pretty damn cool_

**[the gay]**

_dont get ur hopes up_

**[???]**

_u know me yeosangie_

_i never do._

✲

“Did you get your grades for this past semester?” Yunho asks Wooyoung over the clamor of the restaurant as San and Mingi make idle conversation in the background.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung replies. “All A’s.”

The announcement makes even San and Mingi’s heads turn. “You _what_? You got all A’s?” Mingi gawks in disbelief.

Wooyoung shrugs. “Yeah. I’ve gotten all A’s for the past two years.”

His two friends and lover look amongst each other, mouths agape. “How… how the fuck did you get all A’s for three years straight?” Yunho asks.

“I thought you said you’re a _decent_ student. That you get _decent_ grades,” San says. “All A’s isn’t _decent_.”

Wooyoung shrugs again. There’s not much he can say.

“Holy shit, dude. You know that’s something to be proud of, right?” Yunho shakes his head in disbelief. “Now I get why you have so many scholarships. You really downplay yourself, Woo.”

Wooyoung chuckles as San’s hand slips into his under the table.

“I’m trying really hard not to.”

✲

Wooyoung’s family is nothing like San’s. His parents are not together. His parents do not love each other. But it’s _something_ , and Wooyoung doesn’t want to hide forever.

“Oh, you must be San!” Wooyoung’s aunt squeals as soon as she opens the door. “Come in, come in! I know it’s not much, but please, make yourself at home.”

“Thank you,” San says with a bow, sliding his shoes off.

At the same time, the thuds of rampant footsteps from an eleven-year-old grow in volume, until there’s a tiny human attached to Wooyoung’s leg. “Hyung! Hyung! Hi!” Kyungmin screeches.

“Hey, aren’t you getting a little old to be clinging to my leg like that?” Wooyoung retorts playfully.

“Nope! I’ll be clinging onto your leg even when I’m your age, hyung!” Kyungmin releases his leg soon thereafter and turns to San. “You’re hyung’s friend, right? What’s your name?”

“I’m San.” San bows his head and crouches to meet Kyungmin’s height, giving his head a quick ruffle. “You really look like mini Wooyoung.”

“Haven’t heard that before,” Kyungmin says, glancing up at his aunt. “But that’s good! Hyung is so handsome, after all.”

Wooyoung scoffs, chuckling as he adds another ruffle to Kyungmin’s hair. “Okay, buddy.”

Over dinner, Wooyoung’s aunt gushes over her nephews that may as well be her children, thoroughly embarrassing him, but he doesn’t try to interrupt because San can’t stop smiling at little Wooyoung’s photographs. He finds himself looking at his childhood through a different telescope, one that sees a child who didn’t go through hardships. He sees a child who liked Pokémon and doodling, who smiled just like any other child would. San must see it too.

While San is in the shower, his aunt approaches him. “Wooyoung-ah,” she says solemnly, “San is more than a friend to you, isn’t he?”

Wooyoung sucks his bottom lip in and nods. “Yeah. We… um, yeah.”

_I don’t even want to call him my boyfriend because he is so much more._

His aunt smiles softly. “Do you love him?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says confidently. “I do.”

“Good.” She places her hands over his. “Wooyoung-ah, I am so incredibly proud of you. I know it hasn’t been easy lately.”

Wooyoung nods. “How’s eomma doing?”

“She’s been admitted to a psychiatric ward. I don’t know how long she’ll be there for, but once she’s out, she’ll be living in a support home where there will be people to watch her.”

Wooyoung sighs, and his aunt squeezes his hand. “I know, honey. But at least she’s alive. And hopefully, she’ll get the help she needs.”

“Imo… do you think it’s okay to not love family?” he asks.

“That’s a difficult question, Wooyoungie,” she says with a heavy sigh. “I love you and Kyungmin and my sister dearly, but I know how much she’s put you through. I don’t blame you if you feel resentment towards her.”

Wooyoung nods as Yunho’s words replay.

“I know she loves you and Kyungmin too, even if her way of showing it isn’t the most orthodox,” his aunt continues.

“I couldn’t love San for the longest time because of the way she raised me,” Wooyoung says in a hushed voice. “Everything she told me growing up… it stuck with me, without me even realizing it. It made me not want to love. I… I don’t know if I love her, imo. I can’t, not after… not after everything.”

“I understand, Wooyoung-ah.” She squeezes Wooyoung’s fingers firmly. “Even if you don’t love her, please understand that she loves you. She thought that she was protecting you, and she thought she was doing it out of love. I sincerely hope that she’ll discover what love truly is, just as you have.” She smiles at forty percent. “You look happier, Wooyoungie. Like a changed man.”

Wooyoung chuckles, eyes ghosting over the bathroom door where San is. “Do you think love makes someone a better person?” he asks.

“I think that’s definitely a part of it,” his aunt says. “We don’t pick and choose the ones we love or don’t love, sweetheart. We just _do_.”

Wooyoung beams at the door, water trickling near the border.

✲

“How long did live you at your aunt’s?” San asks, hopping onto the bed.

“Eleventh and twelfth grade, so two years,” Wooyoung answers, following suit and instantly crawling under San’s open arm. “My mother had a breakdown when she was drunk. It was real messy, imo had to call the cops and everything. After that, my mother was deemed unfit to look after my brother and I, so my aunt took custody of us while she was basically assigned as my mother’s caretaker whenever possible.”

“Wow,” San says.

“And now, well… she’s going to have other people look after her once she gets out of the hospital.”

San nods. “Also,” Wooyoung interjects, “my aunt knows about us. She could kind of tell. Fun fact, your mother actually thought we were together when I went with you to Jeju Island.”

“Oh, yeah,” San laughs. “I can see why she thought that.”

“Oh? How?”

“Well, I’d tell my parents about you as if I were in love with you,” San says, stroking Wooyoung’s upper arm. The ceiling above them is dark, bland. A single bedside table lamp lights up the room, but even under an unsaturated sky, San’s gleaming treasure is still visible.

Wooyoung likes to trace the dots. Good thing San’s neck isn’t as ticklish as his is.

“And I was,” San finishes with a kiss to the crown of his head. “I was in love with you then, just as I am now.”

Wooyoung smiles and kisses his shoulder and wonders exactly when he fell in love with San despite everything in his body telling him otherwise.

✲

“You’re going to graduate before me. Everyone’s going to graduate before me because I didn’t pick my major for the longest time like an idiot,” Wooyoung says before stuffing his cheeks with more orange sorbet.

“Shut up, you’re not an idiot, nor is anybody else who doesn’t pick a major for a long time. It just took you a little longer to figure out what you want to be, and that’s okay.”

Wooyoung looks at the hot pink spoon dangling from San’s mouth and thinks that _yeah, it’s okay_.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” San declares, like a cliché, but it still makes the butterflies dance. “I’ll take pictures of you, and you can draw me with an electronic pen instead of a gel one. Sound good?”

Wooyoung fist bumps him and nods with a five hundred percent smile and a one thousand percent heartbeat.

✲

“I had no idea this café even _had_ a second floor,” Wooyoung bemoans as San tugs him up the spiral staircase of their beloved meeting space, one that Wooyoung didn’t know _existed._

“Well, now you do! Now come on, Hongjoong-hyung’s showcase is starting!”

Instead of playing music on the university’s radio, Hongjoong is here, on the second floor of the café setting up his microphone for his very first live show.

A few people have gathered, possibly some of Hongjoong’s loyal listeners, but out of the corner of Wooyoung’s eye, he sees someone familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time.

“I want to thank everyone for coming,” Hongjoong says, the reverb a bit too much. He lowers the microphone and chuckles. “There are some very special people here tonight. People who have inspired and motivated me endlessly through caffeine and insomnia-driven nights. I want to thank them. You know who you are.”

A small round of applause rings in the space. Wooyoung watches the familiar-ish shadow clap along with everyone else.

“This one is called ‘Rewrite the Rulebook,’ a personal favorite of mine.”

Wooyoung thinks he understands the significance of not downplaying oneself now.

Seeing Hongjoong play live is nothing like listening to him through a pair of earbuds. He’s here now, fingers dominating the piano keys like he was made to do so, talent so obviously shining through the notes he plays, that Wooyoung is left starstruck by someone he’s known for over a year.

Hongjoong is far from a celebrity, but Wooyoung can’t help but feel honored to be in his presence.

Yet, with all the talent he holds in his hands, Hongjoong has been nothing but humble. With clashing wires and genius melodies for a brain, Hongjoong was never one to downplay himself, but he was never one to brag either.

Modesty.

Wooyoung writes it down.

He loses himself in the rest of Hongjoong’s show, swaying his head to the songs off of his soon to be released EP that he still doesn’t know the title of. Occasionally, he glances over at not-stranger, who seems to be listening intently.

Towards the end, Hongjoong leaves the small crowd of loyal listeners with a little message.

“Without my friends, I wouldn’t have been able to finish this EP. I’ve decided to name it _A Love That Won’t Sit Still._ Because when you think about it, love is such a finicky thing. Nobody knows what the hell it is, there’s no definition that’s set in stone. Most people find it impossible to put into words. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that love isn’t something you can just _ignore._ It’s constantly moving, changing, and sometimes you’ll get annoyed. Frustrated. It bounces around like a child and nags at you to be felt.”

He smiles under the spotlight.

“It just… won’t sit still.”

Wooyoung glances from his left to his right, at the not-stranger and the person who should’ve been one.

“Thank you for listening. The EP will be available to listen to on various streaming platforms in two weeks. I hope you’ll take the time to listen, maybe even share it with your friends and family. The people you love.”

Hongjoong stands up and bows as the audience whoops and hollers (well, as much as about twenty people can anyway).

The not-stranger is smiling at a percentage Wooyoung can’t even gauge. Under a lifeless light, Wooyoung swears he can see tears.

✲

The cover of Hongjoong’s EP is… very familiar.

“What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me you used a picture of me?” Wooyoung asks in disbelief.

“Hey, I cropped your eyes out! I just thought it was a really cool aesthetic, you know? It really works with the track ‘Inconvenient Fireworks,’ don’t you think?”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, though he can’t help the smile plastered on his face. Just like the one on the cover, illuminated by sparks.

“Do you not like it?” San asks in a smaller voice.

Wooyoung shakes his head and kisses San.

“No, you dunce. I love it.”

Wooyoung remembers that night, because he wouldn’t allow himself to forget. Not when the snapshot he took of San hovering over him like an innocuous raincloud stays nagging at his brain like a child. Not when there’s evidence, through San’s very own lens, that _maybe_ he loved Wooyoung at this point in time.

In the picture, Wooyoung is smiling the widest he’s ever smiled, probably.

“Did you love me when you took this?” he asks curiously.

“Maybe,” San answers mischievously, planting a kiss on Wooyoung’s cheek.

Wooyoung chuckles and looks at it again, through his _own_ lens, and sees someone who didn’t go through hardships. He sees someone who imagines boldly, who likes three sugars and three creams in his coffee, who smiles just as any other human being should.

_Maybe I did, too._

✲

Just as Hongjoong said, it’s not easy.

Wooyoung lives in fear, that much he’s aware of. He will probably never be able to dispose of it all. He thinks that perhaps this is true for everyone, that it is truly impossible to live without even the most microscopic shred of fear.

With each passing day, he hopes that will never hurt San.

He never tells San about his fear. He’s pretty sure San knows, anyway. Because San knows _him_ , inside and out, more than anyone else.

San is there to hold him when the boat rocks to the point where he’s seasick. San is there under every color sky to admire the stars or lack thereof with him. San is there to hold his hand when it cramps up and helps guide the pen back to where it belongs.

And Wooyoung likes to believe that he belongs next to him.

✲

_There are a lot of ways to love someone, I think._

_Hongjoong-hyung said at his show that most people find it impossible to put love into words, and I am definitely one of those people._

_I can’t tell you what love is, but I can tell you what it feels like, for me, at least._

_It’s fucking terrifying. After so long of not loving, it was like reopening a door littered with cobwebs and insects. But behind that door is something beautiful; you just have to open the door to get to it. Layers upon layers of horrifying things await. There are storms and whirlpools and tidal waves. There are carnivorous animals waiting to tear you limb from limb or suck you dry. Swords waiting to stab you from every angle, quicksand hidden under every other tile, the ghosts of people you once knew lurking around every corner._

_There is the constant fear you live in, knowing that love inevitably hurts._

_Is love supposed to hurt? No. But it does._

_I’m trying to be okay with the pain. I’m trying to learn, rewrite my rulebook. I’m trying to vanquish the fear that lives within me even though I don’t think I can get rid of it completely._

_He makes it so much easier. It’s not easy, not by a longshot. But he makes it easier._

_I don’t know what he sees in me. Every time I ask him why he loves me, he refuses to answer and instead asks me the same question in reverse._

_“Why do I love you?” he asks me._

_I can’t come up with an answer. I guess I’m still trying to find things to love about me._

_And that’ll be my continuous, neverending journey. Along the way, maybe I’ll pick out the flowers and find the beauty in them. Maybe I’ll carve something into the trunk of a tree like a tattoo and claim it as my own. Maybe I’ll defeat an amorphous creature in the middle of the woods and bask in the victory._

_There’s that cliché saying, one that says something along the lines of “you can’t love someone else if you can’t love yourself.” While I don’t necessarily think that’s true, loving yourself makes loving others so much easier._

_You can see the beauty in everything in that way. In yourself, in others. In the pictures of your friends or the selfies you take. You can see it all._

_20/20 vision, a stainless magnifying glass. You. Can. See. It. All._

_I’m trying, and will continue to try. I love San. I love him so much. And I’m trying to love me like he loves me without thinking that it’s impossible to do so._

_Our love is brilliant. It’s been rocky, and it will be, inevitably so, but what’s the fun in a straight path with nothing to observe? Bring on the unbearable ice storms of winter or the overwhelming dander from the love of a thousand kittens._

_I am learning how to handle it either way._

✲

It is always familiar and unfamiliar kissing San, because while Wooyoung knows San inside and out and vice versa, each time brings a new notion to life, ones that Wooyoung does his best not to shoot down.

San looks at him like he would a sky blanketed by an aurora. Like a shiny new camera lens or a lunar eclipse with a purple moon instead of a red one. Lips parted, eyes widened ever so slightly. He raises a hand to Wooyoung’s cheek, perfectly fitting the curve of it, and smiles.

Wooyoung holds his wrist because he doesn’t want the feeling of San’s warm hand to leave him so quickly.

“Wooyoung,” San says breathlessly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Wooyoung says back.

San blinks in slow motion, just like this moment.

“I never thought it was possible to love someone this much.” San presses a candy-filled kiss to Wooyoung’s knuckles, lips like cotton. Wooyoung watches him do it. “And to think it’s someone so brilliant.”

Wooyoung clenches his heart’s laser and swallows down the _I don’t think I’m worth being loved by you, the truly brilliant one._

So Wooyoung says nothing as San says everything with his eyes. Wooyoung is in love, just as he was when they’d danced together in San’s bedroom, when they’d lain together on stormy nights under fairy skies, when someone else’s lips were on his neck.

_I am far from brilliant. But if you say I am, then maybe I am._

San wipes away a tear before it even falls because he just _knows._ Wooyoung doesn’t let go of his wrist.

“I don’t know where this is gonna go. Where we’ll end up. What’ll happen,” Wooyoung thinks aloud in a murmur. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” San says. “But we’ll go there together, okay?”

Wooyoung nods, his grip on San’s wrist tightening as if he’d let go.

_Through all of your struggles, you remained tenacious, an everlasting mountain, just like your father named you. Beaten and battered by earthquakes and storms the universe threw at you, scarred by the tremors you put yourself through, you stood tall and never stopped loving. I know you’re still trying to love yourself. I am too. But fuck, I love you so much. Through winding roads and unpaved paths, let’s find the things we love about ourselves and each other, but let’s go together, okay?_

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is gonna be relatively short as it's an epilogue more than anything. but i hope you enjoyed this one nonetheless
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)


	11. everything that i am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Love is scary. There will be bumps and sharp corners. There will be predators lurking behind every corner and the invisible, daunting threat that it will end. There will be inevitable arguments, hardships, and tears.
> 
> But I am willing to face it all with him.
> 
> I love him. A piece of me always will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the conclusion! Nothing to note in this chapter, so enjoy the smooth sailing :)
> 
> brought to you by:  
> Lover of Mine - 5 Seconds of Summer  
> Can't Help Falling in Love - Haley Reinhart  
> Stray Italian Greyhound - Vienna Teng

“Wooyoung-ah, I hope this message reaches you well. I know that you probably won’t answer this call, nor will you respond to it, and that’s okay. I just hope that you take the time to listen to what I have to say.

I know I must have put you through a lot. My sister has told me so. She said she doesn’t know how you truly feel about me, or if you feel anything at all. I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything, if I’m being honest. I never thought that my own child would despise me, but… I suppose I only have myself to blame for that. A child can’t hate their parent without reason, right?

I wish I could’ve watched you grow, Wooyoung-ah. I always tell you that I’m proud of you without really seeing why. But your aunt is telling me that you’re happy, that you’ve found someone very special, and that you love them with your whole heart. I hope that they continue to make you happy. That is all I could ever ask for as a mother, especially after all the times I’ve made you unhappy.

I was a fool. I still am one. I was when I married your father. But oh, Wooyoung-ah, I don’t regret having your or Kyungmin. I am so proud to be the mother of two beautiful kids. When I look at you two, I don’t see him. I hope that you don’t think otherwise. I know that I’ve hurt you. And after you receive this message, I won’t be surprised if you never want to speak to me again. Of course, it will hurt, never hearing my own child’s voice again, but I brought it upon myself.

I refuse to infringe upon your happiness any longer. But if you do wish to contact me… let my sister know.

I love you, my beautiful Wooyoung. Please, take care.”

✲

Under a ceiling of coconut flesh, Wooyoung dances to a familiar song with a paint roller in his hand to serve as a distraction from the task at hand. Maybe the fumes have reached his head, but he’s feeling pretty good right now.

“Hey, come on! If we really crank down on this we could finish by tonight!” San reprimands with a laugh to his voice.

“Whoever lived here previously was an idiot,” Wooyoung laments, his foolish movements coming to a halt. “Who the fuck paints a room hot pink? This wasn’t even a little girl’s bedroom!”

“Less about the previous owner’s questionable taste in interior design and more about painting the wall the color you _want_ it to be, okay?” San laughs again, dipping his paint roller in more coconut-colored paint.

A clean slate.

Once it dries, it’ll be Wooyoung’s very own canvas, but he’s leaving one wall open for San. Actually, he’d wanted to give two walls to San, but San assured him that his photos will fit just about anywhere, that this room is for _Wooyoung_ to paint his thoughts upon. His very own studio of sorts.

Next door is the bedroom they share. It has bright hardwood floors and a bed that’s missing a frame. A pin board adorned with Polaroids and candids hangs on the wall next to it. San likes to draw dots in between the pictures.

San’s old radio from Jeju Island sits in the corner of the empty room, blasting low quality audio of high quality songs, its antenna at the highest peak. It still whirs when San starts it up and when he skips a track, but Wooyoung has come to like the old feel. Perhaps San is rubbing off on him, in more ways than one.

“Should’ve gotten Yunho and Mingi to help us,” Wooyoung grumbles as he swipes his roller over the wall opposite San.

“They haven’t even packed their own shit,” San says. “Now stop your whining and let’s get this done.”

As it turns out, San was right. Having chipped away at the labor over the past few days, they finally manage to layer on the final coat of white paint, leaving their bodies sweaty and walls a blank slate.

Now, the just have to wait for it to dry.

✲

**[wooyoung]**

_hyung!! long time no talk!!!!_

_how is everything over where you are?_

**[genius joong]**

_oh, wooyoungie! it’s lovely to hear from you again!_

_i’m in london at the moment! everything is so different here_

_i miss you and sannie, though. how are you two doing?_

**[wooyoung]**

_we’re doing good! in the process of moving, hella stressful_

_sannie starts his new job soon! some indie fashion company really liked his work_

**[genius joong]**

_and you? what have you and your talented hands been up to?_

**[wooyoung]**

_i dabble in different areas. more freelance, independent work_

_i design graphic tees, murals, im even learning to do some tattoo work_

_depends on my mood lol_

**[genius joong]**

_that’s fantastic, wooyoungie_

_who knows, maybe you’ll have me as a client one day_

**[wooyoung]**

_sure, always looking for new clients to practice on_

_what would you get?_

**[genius joong]**

_mmm a flower of sorts_

_i think seonghwa would like it_

_of course that’s not the only reason why i’d get a flower tattoo_

_don’t even THINK about twisting my words_

**[wooyoung]**

_wouldn’t dream of it hyung ;)_

**[genius joong]**

_on a more serious note_

_really and truly, wooyoung. thank you from the bottom of my main cardiovascular organ_

_because of you, i’m in a city far, far away. i’m living the life that my parents said i never would_

_i’m happy. so indescribably happy. people loved my first EP, and i’m actually working with some producers here on second, maybe even a full length album_

_it’s a lot of work, but i am finally thriving_

_i also sleep a lot more since it’s hard work haha_

**[wooyoung]**

_aww, hyung :’)_

_im really happy for you_

_let me know when your first concert is and i’ll drop everything to come see you_

**[genius joong]**

_i’m going to hold you to it, wooyoungie!_

✲

San winces at the first dot, the unfamiliar feeling of a needle driving into his skin making his shoulders twitch.

“Does it hurt?” Wooyoung asks.

“A little,” San says. “I mean, it could be worse. It feels like a bug bite, almost. How the heck did you do this to yourself?”

“San, I could say something very, very sad to that, but this is supposed to be a happy moment so I’m refraining.”

San chuckles and watches as the needle disappears and reappears every half second. “This is so unprofessional, Wooyoungie. And I’d imagine a little less sanitary than if I were to go to an actual tattoo parlor.”

“And less expensive. There’s always a risk with stick and poke, but trust me,” Wooyoung says, wiping away the first few blotches of ink that spill from the tiny pricks in San’s skin. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to do this if I didn’t,” San quips with a butterfly-like kiss to the crown of Wooyoung’s head.

Wooyoung shakes his head and continues his work, steady hands sheathed beneath black gloves. He expertly traces the outline of San’s desired tattoo on the space beneath his right thumb, tongue poking out of his lips in concentration.

With the occasional wince, San musters up enough breaths to get him through the nerve-wracking experience of getting his first tattoo, especially through a less conventional method, but when he’s finally able to wiggle his fingers, he lets out a deep sigh of relief.

“Trust me, there are some people who do stick and poke with a fucking toothpick. _That_ is unprofessional,” Wooyoung says, removing his gloves. “How do you like it?”

San raises his hand to look at it under a better light. It’s a cute little doodle, one that Wooyoung has probably traced into his ceiling at some point in time, but it’s here now, etched into his skin.

Two tiny mountains with a half circle rising from behind them, lines the size of sprinkles acting as the rays of sunshine that constantly fill Wooyoung’s dreams.

And below Wooyoung’s left thumb is an umbrella, a single one, not the color of every because he only has black ink at his disposal, but he likes to look at it under San’s fairy lights and pretend that it is.

“I love it,” San says before Wooyoung takes his hand again and gives it another disinfecting. “And I love you.”

“Sap,” Wooyoung jokes, but he leans in to kiss him as a way to say it back.

✲

While San is at his very first photoshoot, Wooyoung takes some time to himself to wander the halls of their new place. Hanging upon every wall is at least one photo that San has taken.

The third new year they spent together, San had taken _one_ photo of the fireworks show they’d gone to in Seoul, saying that it’s one or nothing, and from San’s perceptive eye and uncanny knack for photography, a surefire masterpiece was developed and framed and hung in the living room.

On the mantle rests more picture frames home to photos from all sorts of lenses, from San’s Polaroid camera to the fancy schmancy one to the one built into his smartphone. They all tell a story, and if San could draw dashes from one photo the another, he would.

Lining the walls of the hallways are smaller candids San has taken, mainly the common scenes of fruit and flowers, but they’re still so _San_. Wooyoung has familiarized himself with San in almost all the senses, to the point where he could tell San’s and five other photographers’ work apart.

And in the single room set aside to be a memorial of their art combined, a decent portion of the wall across from the door is littered with photos as if it were a crime investigation board. Here, on this particular wall, San has actually strung up strands of red thread as if to connect the photos, but in actuality he just did it for the aesthetic.

Wooyoung’s walls are far from finished, but it’s okay. It’s a continuous journey, after all. So far, he’s painted waves, but his main focus has been on the ceiling, where he’s trying to create his very own version of _The Starry Night_ within the grooves. He’ll try not to cut off his own ear in the process.

In one of the corners is an easel with Wooyoung’s first ever painting that he will use as inspiration for his wall mural, whenever the day comes.

He looks at the photos on San’s wall. At first glance, it’s a jumbled mess that the everyday person couldn’t even begin to comprehend. But then again, so is Wooyoung’s head, and San had said he wanted to capture it in all of its chaos and beauty. So, he’s taken photos of fireworks and flowers and the ocean, whatever he has access to.

He’s taken photos of Wooyoung through every lens he owns, including the ones built into his own head.

According to San, those are the most memorable of all.

Wooyoung will never be able to view himself the way San does, but maybe he doesn’t need to.

Honing in on his own senses, his own lens that he is constantly working to improve, he’ll see himself in his very own way.

And hopefully, he can love himself through each and every lens he creates, just like San.

✺✺✺

_It started out as a spark of lust and bravery in that moment. I was actually super nervous because I thought he was way out of my league, but Mingi was insistent that I “live a little,” so I gave it a shot._

_And so began my tumultuous spiral._

_I used one of the corniest pick up lines known to man that I mentally slapped myself a million times afterwards, but it ended up working, clearly. I remember how he’d moved his body, like he’d done it so many times before. He had glitter on his collarbones that sparkled even under the pulsating lights and he ended up sweating it off once we were done._

_I didn’t think I’d see him again even after I said that maybe I would. But I did, and the spiral continued._

_I’ll spare you the details of the process of falling in love with him because there’s just too much to cover. I will tell you about him, though._

_He is someone who received very little love in his life, to the point where he had almost none to give back. But I could tell there was something much more beneath the surface, behind all the wacky stories and scenarios he’d talk about. His brain was, and still is, so loud. He conjures up stories on his own, ones that the average human being wouldn’t think about, and it was so fascinating to me._

_I don’t know exactly when I started to fall for him. I was scared, because I knew how he was. I knew that he was emotionally cut off, for the most part, that he couldn’t love because he had none to give, that he didn’t do relationships because he wasn’t willing to risk somebody leaving him again. I knew that it was dangerous, falling in love with him. But as a good friend of mine always said, it just happens._

_And boy, it happened. I fell, and I fell hard._

_I fell in love with his everything. His dry, dark sense of humor, the little mole under his left eye, his brilliant mind, the way he spoke in metaphors that nobody but himself understood. I watched as he slowly emerged from the cocoon he sheltered himself in, and I did so with pride swelling in my heart even after I thought he’d broke it._

_It was far from that. He always says that I’m incapable of hurting people. That is not true, nor will it ever be. Anyone could hurt anyone._

_Even so, he was able to break free, but I was not his savior, nor was he mine. All I did was light a spark._

_He always had the potential to love. It is my firm belief that everyone does. And I am so, so honored to be the first person he’s shared his love with, and I hope I can continue to be that person._

_Hell, I’d marry him if I could. I can’t, not yet, but the day I find out that I can, I will buy a ring in less than a heartbeat._

_But in reality, maybe it isn’t that big of a deal. Even if I marry him, what would change? I would still love him the same. We’d still live under the same roof, still share the same bed. There would be a ring on our fingers but we already have more permanent marks of our love on our hands. We don’t need a certificate or rings that could easily be thrown away._

_I know that it’s hard for him to see himself in the same light that I do. I know that it’s hard to love oneself. We’re working on it._

_I sincerely hope that we will be able to love ourselves to the fullest degree one day. I hope that for everyone I know and don’t know._

_In conclusion, let this be known:_

_He is more than just my boyfriend, and it feels too cheesy to call him my everything._

_So for now, I will call him Wooyoung. Because that’s his name. That’s who he is. The only person he should ever aspire to be. Bold, brilliant, beautiful Wooyoung._

_He loves orange sorbet and coffee with three creams and three sugars. He dreams of oceans and deserts and umbrellas and fireworks that reflect his love and pain. He is striving to learn who he is and wants to be while constantly learning from who he was, and I couldn’t be prouder._

_Love is scary. There will be bumps and sharp corners. There will be predators lurking behind every corner and the invisible, daunting threat that it will end. There will be inevitable arguments, hardships, and tears._

_But I am willing to face it all with him._

_I love him. A piece of me always will._

_With love,_

_Choi San_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, the final page of another book has been closed. Thank you for sailing with me.
> 
> I want to sincerely thank you for reaching the end of this fic. I am not confident in most of the things I write, but this fic is one that I'm actually quite proud of. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> I hope that you find the San to your Wooyoung, the Wooyoung to your San, the Yunho to your Mingi, or the Mingi to your Yunho. Whoever makes you feel like the ocean waves aren't always treacherous, like you're not sinking into the depths of uncertainty and fear. Whether it be a stranger, a friend, or a lover, I hope you find someone you can share your umbrella with.
> 
> Please feel free to share your thoughts. I would love to hear whatever your brain creates.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)


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